Hide and Seek
by kydasam
Summary: SLASH VHC, VHD, CO. Sequel to Discovery and Disillusion. Van Helsing must find a way to stop the hordes of monsters that are attacking the Order by stopping the spy within the Order itself while surviving the werewolf and vampire battling within himself
1. Default Chapter

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to Discovery and Disillusion Summary: Van Helsing and Carl must split up to start a new mission  
Notes: Woof! I'm not going to be quite as fast with updates as before because I need to research the area I'm writing about. I promise to keep it to the minimum necessary, though!  
Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the start of slash (in a loving relationship)  
Notes: Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback**For all of you who followed the past stories, I hope that you find this story equally as interesting if not more so! Your reviews and suggestions are, as always, deeply appreciated! Due to Fanfiction rules I am unable to thank you in depth but I would like to say thanks to reviewers **Komikitty****Fluffy Vampire, ****Verona Dracula, ****PineappleIce**

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"...In witchcraft, as commonly understood, there is involved the idea of diabolical pact or at least an appeal to the intervention of the spirits of evil. In such cases this supernatural aid is usually invoked either to compass the death of some obnoxious person, or to awaken the passion of love in those who are the objects of desire, or to call up the dead, or to bring calamity or impotence upon enemies, rivals, and fancied oppressors. This is not an exhaustive enumeration, but these represent some of the principal purposes that witchcraft has been made to serve at nearly all periods of the world's history." _New Advent, vol. 15674a._

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_**Hide and Seek - 1  
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_From "Discovery and Disillusion": Van Helsing smiled tiredly, and lowered his head to rest his cheek against Carl's tousled hair. When the morrow came, he would be able to handle what had to be done. As long as he had Carl with him, he always would be._

They were awakened the next morning by a frantic pounding on the door of Carl's chamber. Carl groaned against Van Helsing's shoulder; burrowing into the hunter's skin, he waved a hand absently in the direction of the door. 

"Go away! All full. No sprechen zie Deutch!"

"Carl?" a wavering voice snuffled at the closed wooden door while a tentative hand tried the latch, rattling it vigorously. "Carl, Cardinal Jinette wants you. He says you and Van Helsing are to come to the lab immediately, but I can't find the hunter and you won't come and I don't know what to do!"

"Oh, God," Van Helsing groaned, throwing one arm over his eyes as Carl shook his head against his neck.

"No rest for the wicked," the friar growled and poked the hunter in the ribs with a finger,  
immediately soothing the indignity by stroking.

"Carl?"

"Yes, I'm coming," the friar bellowed, raising himself up to fix the unoffending door with a look of pure dislike. "And I'll bring Van Helsing...just..._go away_!"

"A..all right...," the tremulous voice sounded grateful to be let off the hook so easily and the sound of rapidly fading footsteps announced they were alone once again.

Van Helsing sighed. He was still unutterably tired and his muscles ached. The only good thing about this day promised to be Carl. With a grunt, he rolled to his side, spilling the friar off of his chest then rolled over onto him instead.

"Argh! Van...Van Helsing...squashing...woof!"

The hunter's body vibrated on top of Carl's as he laughed softly. He made no attempt to rise nor to shift his weight–in fact, he was quite comfortable lying over the friar and planned to stay there as long as possible. Carl had other ideas.

The friar's fingers moved over the hunter's ribs and waist, tickling. As Van Helsing began to squirm, Carl's smile got wider and his fingers got busier. When the hunter chuckled even as he swatted at the friar, Carl laughed outright and got down to business.

Within seconds, Van Helsing gave up and rolled off, rolling into a ball beside Carl to protect his ribs.

"Stop it, Carl! God, Stop!"

"Who knew the big bad hunter was ticklish!"

"Keep...keep it up..and we'll find...out about the nasty little _friar_!"

Surging up under Carl's hands, Van Helsing seized the friar's wrists and forced them to the bed on either side of his head. Panting for breath, he looked down into Carl's round blue eyes.

"Maybe I should tie you to the bed," he growled, then raised an eyebrow as a thoughtful look moved over Carl's face before disappearing with suspicious haste. The look of pure innocence that followed made Van Helsing snort and shake his head. Releasing Carl's wrists, he flopped over onto his back and pulled the friar onto his chest.

"I begin to think I'm too young to be with you, Carl. You're going to corrupt me yet."

"Pssptht! Corruption is a state of mind. One I'm sure you've managed on occasion," the friar averred with pompous certainty.

Van Helsing chuckled and hugged Carl. "Probably. Do we have to go?"

The blond patted Van Helsing's chest, stroking it lovingly. "Yes. If we don't, friar Paul will be back."

"Paul?" Van Helsing's brows knit in thought. "The little fellow with the glasses and the pimples?"

"That would be Paul. Don't mention the pimples. He's sensitive."

"Hmph. He looks like he's 12."

"Hardly. And he has a bad case of hero worship for me, so mind what you say."

"Yes, Carl."

The hunter rubbed his nose against the friar's soft hair, inhaling Carl's fragrance with pleasure. Then, with a sigh, he released the other man, moving to sit up on the edge of the bed.

Carl sat up as well, stretching until his joints popped. He eyed the sunlight spilling through the open shutters with shuddering dislike.

"Didn't we just go to sleep?"

Van Helsing nodded. "About five minutes ago," he agreed as he forced himself to his feet and moved to the pitcher and bowl on Carl's washstand. Pouring some of the water into the bowl, the hunter began to wash himself, shivering as the cold water sluiced over his warm skin. Carl pulled up the still-warm blankets around himself and watched avidly.

"You know, I've seen you wash a hundred times before. I don't know why it's so interesting now."

"I don't either," Van Helsing snorted. Hefting the bowl of used water, he moved carefully over the clothes strewn wooden floor to the open window and tossed the water out. Pulling the towel from his shoulder, he wiped the bowl out and replaced it in the stand before turning to dry himself.

"Possibly it's because you've become dotty with infatuation?"

Carl only grinned before bouncing off the bed and into Van Helsing's arms to hug him tightly. Above the friar's head, Van Helsing's smile was tender and pleased. His hands gently stroked Carl's hair and back with long smooth caresses that made Carl sigh.

"I could easily get used to this," the friar smiled against Van Helsing, nuzzling his chest and the warm hard nub he found there.

"So could I. But if we're going to go, you need to stop that. I don't want to face Jinette and Paullooking like a bull."

Carl snickered but pulled away as requested. Jockeying for position, the two men switched positions at the wash stand. Van Helsing leaned over the friar to pour water into the bowl as Carl touched a finger to the water and yelped.

"Damn! It's cold!"

"Yes, Carl, it's cold. Hurry up and wash so you can dress and get warm."

The hunter disregarded the friar's muttered replies, sure that they were wholehearted curses. Carl didn't tend to greet the morning with open arms on the best of days. This did not promise to be even a good day. Turning, Van Helsing pulled on his clothing from the day before. They were rank, but all he had at hand–later, he would make the effort to move a change of clothing into Carl's press, so this wouldn't happen again. Once dressed, he turned to the spluttering, wet friar.

"I need to go to my room for fresh clothing. Come get me when you're done."

"A...aalrrrrrgght," the friar chattered at him, waving his arm for the hunter to go.

Shaking his head, Van Helsing unlocked the chamber door and eased it open, peering out into the hallway. Finding it empty of salivating Pauls, he quickly stepped outside and pulled the door to after him, then set off for his own room.

Carl finished his washing in record time. He could have done a better job, but at least he didn't smell of sex any longer and that was the main goal of this current water torture. Shivering hard now, he moved to the wardrobe, yanking the doors open to survey the staggering choice of two robes hanging inside.

"Let's see...brown...or brown? The one with the frayed hem, or the one with the acid burn on the sleeve? Decisions...decisions..." In the end he settled for the frayed hem and pulled the thick robe on with a groan of relief. Five minutes later and some interesting contortions got his drawers and a pair of thick wooley socks on. Shoes followed. A pair of fingerless gloves pulled firmly down over his hands completed his sartorial preparations.

Smoothing down his hair with his fingers, the friar moved to the door and yanked it open. All was quiet in the dark hallway. He wondered if the other friars, monks, rabbis, Muslims, etc. that shared this hall with him were already in the labs. Probably.

Moving through the hallway at a fast trot, he blushed to realize he was all but running–he suspected that he was going to be an embarrassingly eager lover. Carl loved sex. He loved snuggling up to a warm willing woman and he loved snuggling up to a warm eager Van Helsing more so. If he were being 100 truthful, however, he had to admit to himself that he loved what happened after the sex the most. The talking, the holding, joking with the hunter. Carl loved being loved.

Two turns and a long hallway later, he knocked on the hunter's door.

"Come," came the reply and he opened the door expecting to see Van Helsing fully dressed. Instead he was greeted by havoc.

The hunter's room had been torn apart. His belongings were scattered all over the room, most of them shredded, the bed had been all but destroyed. On one of the stone walls were gouging scratch marks, at least a quarter inch deep.

"Oh my God," Carl whispered, stepping into the room to turn slowly about, viewing the devastation with horror.

Van Helsing sat on the one remaining whole chair, arms folded, one leg up on the overturned table. His face was dark and thoughtful as he watched Carl's gyrations.

"It looks like staying with you last night was a good idea, for more than one reason," he murmured, his lips turning up at one corner.

"Gabriel...did this happen while were fighting at the gate...or..or after?"

Van Helsing shrugged. "It's hours old now–there was only one of them, but that's all I can tell for certain."

"How do you know...oh," the friar blushed as Van Helsing raised one eyebrow at him. "Gabriel...you don't think the Cardinal..."

"Not unless he's grown claws," the hunter remarked, gesturing to the scores in the wall. "It looks like my visitor wasn't happy I didn't spend the night in."

"Thank God you didn't," Carl shuddered. "We should go see the Cardinal immediately. If that thing is still here, it could hurt someone."

Van Helsing nodded, rising to his feet. He'd managed to piece together a change of clothing from the wreckage, and now with his coat and hat on, he looked less like Carl's lover and more like the Vatican's monster slayer. Carl shivered again–he hated losing the easy happiness that they had enjoyed only minutes before.

As they left the hunter's room, Carl steeled himself to look up at his friend. "Gabriel, I have a favor to ask."

"Mmm?" the hunter met Carl's eyes, frowning at his hesitant tone.

"I...I want you to forget about getting..outside lodgings. For a while. Not forever...just until this settles down. I don't want you to be alone if that thing comes back."

Van Helsing's grim mouth abruptly quirked, sliding into a small fond half smile. "Are you worried about me, Carl? I can take care of myself, you know."

"Yes, I know that very well. I also know that's not your place any longer, I'm supposed to take care of you. So humor me."

"Ah, I see. Very well. If that's what you want."

"It is," Carl sighed with relief, his own mouth now turning up into a like smile. "I'm glad that you can be reasonable."

"Hmph, terrified is more like it. I don't want to go up against a protective friar."

Carl snorted, shoving his shoulder against Van Helsing's side to make the hunter stagger slightly. "That's right. And don't forget it!"

They made the rest of the journey in good time, not speaking again until they found Jinette. He stood in the center of the lab, bathed in a welter of sound and smoke, his expression grim. He looked as if he hadn't slept and the tension in his body promised mayhem to anyone foolish enough to earn his wrath. Carl made sure Van Helsing didn't miss this fact by poking him sharply in the ribs, then placing a finger to his lips. The hunter rolled his eyes, but nodded.

Paul noted their arrival first; his approach was a combination of a trot and a sideways sidling motion, making him look like an eager but uncertain puppy. Carl's smile evened out the other friar's indecision and the man joined them with a dazzling smile of his own.

Van Helsing barely managed not to chuckle at the fellow's obvious adoration of Carl, although Carl's foot pressing down on his also helped overcome that temptation.

"Carl, Mr. Van Helsing," the young friar gasped, his wide brown eyes alight with excitement. "They've been going at it all night. The Cardinal hasn't left for a moment."

"He's been here all night?" Carl gasped, eyeing the prelate with a small amount of dread, now. Jinette with eight hours under his belt was difficult to get along with. Without any sleep at all...they'd be lucky if he didn't clap them in irons.

"Hasn't had a wink," Paul averred with grim satisfaction. "He's been asking for you now every five minutes. Maybe you should go to him."

"Good idea," the hunter growled, catching Carl's arm. "Excuse us, please."

The young friar's head bobbed on his neck almost bonelessly as he stepped aside and allowed the two to continue on to the Cardinal's side.

Jinette noted their approach with snapping eyes and a short curt nod. He didn't speak, only gestured them to follow as he turned and left his station, heading for the area where a projector was set up. Upon his arrival, the monk that had been nodding over the projector snapped to and lit the candle within to cause a picture to appear on the wall. The image was somewhat difficult to see, being unusually grainy and inclined to waiver. The monk meekly apologized, explaining that he had done his best, but had been unable to get a better quality projection.

Van Helsing and Carl studied the image of an older, severe looking woman, with dark hair and eyes. She was dressed in what appeared to be a simple black dress. The only thing that distinguished her appearance was a pair of snapping black eyes that made Carl feel the urge to apologize for some reason.

"This is Mavis Carter," Jinette spoke in a grating growl, his voice harsh with incipient laryngitis. "She is the unacknowledged head of a cult of witches in Bavaria. We believe that this cult, or coven, is responsible for causing the monsters to rise up."

"Witches..." Van Helsing moved closer to the portrait, studying it, then growled as the picture wavered violently before disappearing.

"Sorry...sorry! Candle went out. One moment..." the monk babbled, his eyes everywhere but on Jinette's face. As he tinkered with the candle, Van Helsing turned to Jinette.

"Why would this coven want to cause trouble?"

"We don't know. Suffice it to say that our information is sketchy at best. The only real clue we have is this..." Jinette held out a small card to Carl, who took it and moved to Van Helsing, holding it up for their inspection.

The scrap of carding had a symbol on it, done in red. Carl shivered when he realized the design was in blood.

"That is the symbol of this coven. It was found on the body of one of the monsters that attacked the Vatican."

"Just one?" Van Helsing asked, eyebrow raising. "One monster, it could have gotten it anywhere. Maybe from another victim."

"Possibly," Jinette admitted, then shrugged, his mouth opening to speak again only to be interrupted by the monk manning the projection machine. The monk had managed to relight the candle and the image reappeared on the wall briefly before it wavered drastically and began to blacken and curl.

"Oh no! The image is on fire!" the monk wailed as he dived into the projector to try and salvage the small picture, only to be pulled back by Carl.

"Don't, it's gone," Jinette growled. "It appears that card is our only clue now."

"Maybe not," Carl interrupted, glancing at the hunter before turning to Jinette. "Gabriel's room...it's been wrecked. Someone or something has been there and torn it apart. It left a set of claw marks on the wall almost 7 feet up."

Jinette blinked, frowning. Abruptly, he gestured to the distraught monk hovering over the smoking projector. "Marcus, leave that alone. Get a detail of forensics together and go to Van Helsing's room. Go over it carefully, gather all the evidence you can."

"Yes sir." The monk straightened slowly, his face paling as he nervously licked his lips.

"It's alright, whatever it was it's gone," Carl promised him, and smiled as the monk relaxed slightly before hurrying away.

Jinette had already dismissed the monk from his thoughts, his attention was now for the hunter. "When did this take place? How is it I haven't heard of this before?"

Van Helsing shrugged, his hazel eyes on the projector rather than Jinette. "I didn't go to my room last night. It could have happened any time within the night."

"You didn't return to your room? Where did you sleep? I told you to get some sleep–I need you to go out on a mission today."

Van Helsing turned to meet Jinette's eyes, his own expressionless. "Don't worry. I'll be ready to go when necessary."

Carl held his breath, only releasing it when the Cardinal frowned, but didn't pursue the matter. Instead, the prelate began to pace, his booted feet inaudible over the roar and clank of the forges.

"I've made arrangements for you to leave in a few hours. You'll be bound for a village outside of Kempten in Bavaria. I have maps for you. It's a small village, probably not much bigger than a few dozen souls. The main arm of the coven has a base in the surrounding area. I can't tell you exactly where, you'll need to find out from the villagers."

"Hmph. That leaves a lot open," Van Helsing frowned. "What are the chances the villagers will be willing to talk."

Jinette sighed, pausing to rub his eyes tiredly. "It's the best we have. I know it's ridiculously little,  
but you'll have to make due."

Carl moved forward at that point, raising one finger to catch the prelate's attention.

"Er, your Grace...actually, I had planned to go with Gabriel. He'll need some help with this..."  
Jinette was already shaking his head even as Carl spoke, his eyes flickering from the friar to the hunter.

"No, not this time. I need you here, Carl. We still have a spy in the Vatican. I plan to rely heavily on you to find him."

"Me!" Carl squeaked in horror. "But I'm not a detective. I know nothing about finding spies! Surely this is, finally, a job for the Inquisition?"

Jinette fixed his dark eyes on Carl, his brows coming down in an exasperated frown. "Carl, do you really think it's wise to invite the Inquisition to poke about in the Order's business?" He waved his hand as the friar opened his mouth to reply. "It doesn't matter. I've decided, Carl. This will be your task; I am certain you are more than up to it. Get all the help you need, but keep it within the Order."

Blinking, Carl could only swallow his objections like a dose of bitter salts. "Yes, sir," he muttered, falling back to stand beside the hunter. His disappointment was obvious, but Jinette didn't choose to make note of it. Van Helsing pressed briefly against Carl before moving away to join Jinette as the prelate left the lab.

Standing alone beside the smoking projector, Carl heaved a sigh. Then, looking about to verify he wasn't being watched, gave the projector a good kick. It didn't help his frustration–it only gave him a sore foot.

TBC


	2. Hide and Seek 2

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to Discovery and Disillusion  
Summary: Van Helsing and Carl must split up to start a new mission  
Notes: Woof! I'm not going to be quite as fast with updates as before because I need to research the area I'm writing about. I promise to keep it to the minimum necessary, though!  
Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the start of slash (in a loving relationship)  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback**: For all of you who followed the past stories, I hope that you find this story equally as interesting if not more so! Your reviews and suggestions are, as always, deeply appreciated! Due to Fanfiction rules I am unable to thank you in depth but I would like to say thanks to reviewers **Fluffy Vampire, Verona Dracula**

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"...In witchcraft, as commonly understood, there is involved the idea of diabolical pact or at least an appeal to the intervention of the spirits of evil. In such cases this supernatural aid is usually invoked either to compass the death of some obnoxious person, or to awaken the passion of love in those who are the objects of desire, or to call up the dead, or to bring calamity or impotence upon enemies, rivals, and fancied oppressors. This is not an exhaustive enumeration, but these represent some of the principal purposes that witchcraft has been made to serve at nearly all periods of the world's history." _New Advent, vol. 15674a._

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**Hide and Seek – 2  
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Van Helsing's leave-taking was short and unsatisfying for Carl. Neither he nor the hunter had any private time from the moment they arrived at the labs. In particular, Carl was distressed to find either Jinette at Van Helsing's elbow or Paul at his own. He wanted to order the other friar away from him but could find no pretext to do so. Van Helsing had met his eyes with a blatant silent request for him to order the other friar away, but Carl hadn't the heart to be rough with the young man. Plainly, Paul had been listening to the other craftsmen about Carl's larger-than-life past and now the young man found Carl too fascinating to ignore. It wasn't his fault, but it did make him unpopular with the object of his attentions.

When, at last, Jinette dismissed Van Helsing to the stables to mount up, Carl went with him in the hopes of a last opportunity for a private moment. Again, he was doomed to disappointment. The stable master, whom Carl had always liked, had brought the hunter's black horse to the steps of the Vatican. There would be no walk to the stables, no chance for a last snuggle in the drowsy hay of the stalls. Under the harsh sunlight of the new morning, Carl could only stand with the stable master and wave as Van Helsing mounted and rode from sight. Briefly, Carl considered the merits of homicide as the stable master clapped him heartily on the back before strolling back to his demesnes. If he hadn't been perfectly sure the man could take him in a fair fight, he might have given in to the urge.

Now, as he slowly walked through the echoing halls of the Vatican, it occurred to him that he wouldn't see Van Helsing for weeks. He refused to allow himself to think it might be longer, that the hunter might possibly be injured or, worse, killed. With all his heart he wished he'd gone with Van Helsing. He felt that if he were there, he could forestall any possibility of something going wrong. It wasn't logical, he could readily admit that, but somehow he was sure that his love for the hunter would keep him safe. And if it didn't—then Carl would be there to share Van Helsing's fate, something that he would be prepared to do if worst should come to worst. While this realization shocked Carl, it didn't dismay him as he might have expected it to. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad one—instead he pushed the thought to the back of his mind promising himself to return to it at a later time.

The sunlight streaming through the great windows of the Vatican made the grand entry beautiful,  
unlike the dark chill hallways that led to the Order's sleeping quarters or even the labs themselves. Looking at the grandeur of the stonework and the beauty of the stained glass, he could easily appreciate the palatial magnificence of the place he lived in. It was difficult to make himself believe that there could be someone here, now, who wished Van Helsing ill—who wanted to hurt any of them. Jinette was positive they had a spy, and after seeing Van Helsing's chamber, Carl had to agree that the possibility existed.

As Carl hesitated, torn with indecision on how to proceed with his assigned task, he only dimly registered the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows had dimmed. It was colder now in the great hall. For once, the foot traffic through the area was almost negligible. Carl was alone for the moment and, as he looked about him, he shivered and rubbed his arms. With the knowledge of a beast loose, possibly in the Vatican even now, he felt very vulnerable in this great empty place. The stonework, so lovely before, now seemed to radiate cold, making him shiver harder. Shadows that had caught the scroll work in the stones so dramatically seemed to now drip and run down the walls and arches, flowing over the parquet floor like black ink. Carl squinted up at the stained glass windows, trying to pierce their dulled opacity to see the sky beyond. Clouds had covered the sun, their movement was causing the shadows to creep and move like a living thing. It flowed over the stone, sparkling and rich, down over the floor to touch and caress his feet.

He felt a shudder of revulsion at the dark embrace and, without thinking why he did it, Carl moved away from the shadows and back into the pale sunlight. Whatever reason had prompted him to move, he felt better instantly. Chiding himself for silly notions, he forced himself to take a good look at the shadows again, only to find that they were just shadows behaving in a normal manner. Even as he watched, the sun broke out of the clouds and dispersed the darkness easily, bathing the hall with color and light. Once again, the full beauty of the Vatican struck him and he chuckled ruefully at the silly fantasies he'd allowed his mind to indulge in. He had better things to be doing–such as looking into the matter of the spy.

How did one set out to find such a person? Well…probably the first step would be to find out what the forensics had discovered. With a firm step, Carl headed toward the hallway that led to Van Helsing's chamber. He remembered the last time he'd come this way he'd been almost running, he'd been so eager to be with Van Helsing. Now, there was no such inducement. Carl scuffed his feet in petulance, enjoying the moment of self-pity so much he didn't notice the incoming traffic headed his way until it slammed into him with enough force to knock him sprawling.

"Carl!" Cardinal Jinette looked down at the friar's sprawled form with impatience, his arms crossing over his chest could never be considered a good sign by anyone.

"Y...your Grace," Carl mumbled as he rose unsteadily, wincing. His ass now hurt as much as his foot did. Clearly, petulance wasn't working for him, however satisfying it might be to indulge in,  
because he kept getting hurt whenever he did. "I'm sorry. I didn't see you coming."

The Cardinal snorted. "Obviously. I can see your mind was elsewhere." Eyeing the friar, he raised an eyebrow at Carl's surreptitious attempt to rub his backside. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, yes, yes. No problems," the friar's mouth spasmed in an unconvincing attempt at a smile. He just didn't feel like smiling, even less so now that his bottom felt like a mule had kicked it.

"Hmph... Carl, I'm well aware that you are unhappy about Van Helsing choosing to leave you behind..."

Carl's head snapped up, his aching bottom forgotten as his blue eyes met Jinette's with righteous indignation. "He didn't choose to leave me behind. I wasn't allowed to go with him–if you'll recall."

"Yes yes, but he obviously preferred you to remain. He didn't raise any protests at my asking you to stay, did he?"

Carl blinked at the older man, dumbfounded. He wanted to argue, to protest how unfair Jinette was being, but for the life of him he couldn't refute what the Cardinal was saying. Gabriel hadn't protested Carl's staying. Recalling the memory now, Carl winced at the pain it brought with it.

Jinette tsked as he moved closer to Carl, his arms going about the friar to pull the startled man into a close hard hug. He released Carl almost immediately to step back. "Don't fret, Carl. You are valued here, and I'm grateful you stayed." Patting Carl's shoulder, the Cardinal left the friar staring after him. Carl swayed where he stood, unable to move. If he were able to assign any word to describe his feelings, it would be shock. He could still feel Jinette's arms about him–he was surprised at the force of the embrace.

Carl was so caught up in his thoughts he failed to note, for a second time, that he was in the way of incoming traffic until it knocked him down for the second time-hard.

Moaning at the pain lancing through his abused buttocks, Carl squinted up through the slanting sunlight at the man standing over him, immediately recognizing the tall rotund shape of Brother Benerd.

"Sorry about that!" the monk wrung his hands as Carl arose from the hard stone tiles and rubbed his posterior with an agonized grimace. "Carl...so sorry-I didn't see you coming!"

"It's all right," Carl grumbled. Gingerly, with Benerd's help, he moved painfully to one side of the walkway, not wishing any more accidental meetings. He forced a rueful half smile for the guilt-stricken monk facing him. He liked Benerd; the monk had been more than friendly to both he and Van Helsing during the lycanthropy tests and after, when Carl had needed his support to face Jinette. True, the fellow was a tad odd, but that could be said for most of the Order.

"Benerd…why are you here instead of in your lab?"

"Ahh!" the monk raised a sheaf of papers that Carl could see were covered in dark sprawling notations. "I've been to Van Helsing's room! I'm part of the investigation team—you and I will be working together again!"

"Oh good," Carl smiled as he mentally groaned. Benerd's enthusiasm was pervasive. The man was a walking exclamation mark—Van Helsing tolerated him, saying his constant happy prattle wore on his nerves. While Carl could appreciate Benerd's cheerfulness, he had to agree with his friend. "So," the friar smothered his uncharitable thoughts and gestured to the report Benerd clutched to his chest. "What did you find out? Any clues on what the beast was?"

"Hah!" the monk's round face almost split with a huge smile as he sidled up to Carl. His voice lowered to a conspiratorial hiss into Carl's ear made the friar shiver and Carl had to fight the urge to rub furiously at his ear. "The perpetrator of the destruction appears to have been a were!"

"A 'were'? As in werewolf?" Carl asked cautiously, his eyebrows rising as all sorts of nasty possibilities came to mind.

"Yes, I suppose a werewolf would be possible," the monk nodded thoughtfully bouncing on his toes again. "But actually I meant 'were' as in the ability to change forms. An individual who is capable of changing form—such as a vampire who can become a bat, or an incubus who can change its form to simulate any other person."

"Oh Lord," Carl breathed, and shuddered. "If they can change to look like anyone…"  
Benerd nodded, his round face becoming unaccustomedly solemn. "Exactly. They could be standing right beside you, and you'd never know it."

Carl left Benerd to his notes and made his way to Van Helsing's chamber. The forensics were gone now, but the mess they'd left was worse than the one Carl had witnessed earlier in the morning. Plaster drippings were everywhere, muddy footprints tramped over smashed belongings and torn clothing indiscriminately. Somewhere within, Carl was sure he was weeping. Looking at the devastation, the hunter seemed more distantly removed from him now than he had ever felt before, and the sensation of loss was agonizing. Carl had finally found out what love was and he felt as if he'd lost it in an instant.

Picking up a tatter of woven cloth he recognized as part of one of Gabriel's sweaters, he sat down amid the wreckage and held it to his cheek, gently sliding the material over his skin as his eyes closed. He could still faintly smell the man who had worn the sweater within the soft weave. If he allowed himself to relax, he could easily picture Gabriel wearing the sweater again and holding him so that his cheek pressed against it. He had felt loved in Gabriel's arms. It was a miracle that he hadn't been aware of doing without until he'd discovered it before him. Now, if Gabriel never came back, Carl would never pass a day without feeling the loss of that miracle.

Wriggling into the wreckage, he made himself comfortable within it as if he were burrowing into the absent man's heart, and closed his eyes. He smiled at the image that came so easily to his mind even as he felt the first drop of moisture on his cheek, sliding from eyelashes to jawline in a slow crystalline trail.

* * *

Van Helsing's journey to Bavaria had been fast and strenuous. It seemed that misfortune had awaited him behind every rock and tree he passed. Several times, he had been attacked in the night by monsters, that, when he killed a number of their fellows, would retreat, then attack again later. They trailed him for miles before he finally managed to kill the last one. He hadn't had a truly restful sleep since he'd left the Vatican.

Now, only a few miles from Dietz, the village he was making for, his horse had come up lame. They were in one of the small but dense forests that cropped up sporadically around Kempten-usually, these stands of trees were only a few miles across, he only had to keep going north to emerge from it. He was now on foot, attempting to lead his horse carefully over the bracken-littered ground while listening for the attacks he'd come to expect hourly. The horse wasn't pleased with the forest or the scent of danger all around them. He had been a reliable steed when facing the monsters with Van Helsing but apparently enough was enough. Now, he balked as Van Helsing attempted to urge him on, his eyes rolled over to gleam whitely, ears flattening as he nervously stamped his hooves at the hunter.

"You can't stop here," Van Helsing spoke reassuringly to the spooked animal. Moving closer, he attempted to stroke the velvety black nose but the horse threw his head up, avoiding the man's hand. Van Helsing stood still then, listening, allowing the scents on the wind and from the surrounding forest to fill his senses. As his senses expanded, the horse grew more restless, finally throwing his head up with a scream and breaking away to run into the dark, back the way they had come.

Van Helsing cursed silently to himself, but continued to stand still, listening, scenting the wind. He could feel it now, the presence of another close by. Not a pack of animals as he'd been assuming—just one. But the scent of it made the hairs on his neck and arms rise and a flush of heat wash over his body. The scent, the feel, was familiar, very familiar but he couldn't place it.

The darkness pressing all around him now was insistent and cloying, it clung to him like wet cotton wool. He felt suffocated and cold in its unnatural embrace. It made sense to face this foe in an open area–besides, he didn't want to leave the horse to the mercy of whatever stalked them in the dark.

Slowly, he backtracked over his original tracks, searching for the horse while listening for the hidden stalker. He emerged from the trees into the small clearing they'd passed through before fully expecting to find the horse. Instead, he found its carcass, its throat torn open so viciously that the poor animal had never had a chance to utter a sound. It's wide eyes stared up at him, already glazed over with the false peace of death. It had fallen on its right side, his crossbow was still strapped to the saddle and was now under the dead weight. He hoped the weapon wasn't broken as he pulled the tojos from his coat and turned, his back to the horse, to face the dark woods.

"I know you're there. Why don't you come out and face me?" he spoke calmly, eyes sweeping from side to side, though he knew he'd never see his nemesis until it was too late.

His only answer was the sighing of the wind through the trees, rattling the branches and making the leaves stir in a spiraling dance. It was almost dawn; though he could see better than most in the darkness, he still wished for the advantage the sun would give him. Not long now, just an hour or so….

He didn't have time to turn, to defend himself, when a tremendous weight crashed to the ground behind him and a large arm suddenly clamped about his waist. .His breath 'wooshed' from his lungs as the pressure around him squeezed so tightly he couldn't breathe. Effortlessly, he was lifted up and back against a cold, hard body. The tojos fell spinning from his hands to bite into the frosty ground and disappear beneath the thick layer of dead leaves.

He kicked at the legs behind him, elbows thudding back into his captor and heard the beast chuckle, though he'd made hard contact. His swinging legs were finding no purchase that would allow him to bring his full strength to bear.

An unbelievably large, cold hand touched his face and moved down over his body, heavily stroking it. Van Helsing growled angrily, his eyes closing, as a snuffling noise in his ear alerted him before he felt a broad muzzle dip into his hair and nuzzle him with voluptuous abandon. The hunter focused on the noises in his ear, using them as a point of reference as he drove his head backwards into the face behind him and felt the arm about his waist slacken, releasing him. He fell to all fours and was scrambling up and away into the darkness almost before he'd completely come to rest.

Stumbling, he made it to the trees, throwing himself back against the largest one so that his back was protected. Above him, the sky was lightening, he could begin to pick out one shadow from another, to see the features of shapes. One such shape was coming toward him now.

His hand dove into his coat pocket and closed about one of the little glass balls that Carl had insisted he was crazy to carry. He'd agreed with Carl at the time, but hadn't been able to stop himself from pocketing it just the same. He only hoped that the sturdy glass enclosing the glycerine would break on the damp mulch that covered the forest floor. He was worried it might not.

"Gabriel..."

The soft sighing voice of the beast approaching made his skin prickle. "So now you decide to speak. About time." Van Helsing muttered, his eyes flying for an instant up to the sky. Definitely lighter.

"I'll speak if you wish me to," the shadow was becoming easier to see, to make out details, easier to identify. The form was fluxing, reshaping from the monstrously huge white bat form to that of a man.

"Dracula." Van Helsing's mouth fell open as the color drained from his face. It was impossible. He'd seen the vampire die, torn apart by Van Helsing himself. The vampire's body had exploded into ash. Anna had died to make it so. And now the Count was standing before him once again. It felt like a cruel, horrible joke. One he wasn't prepared to believe.

"How can you be here, now? I saw you die..."

The vampire shrugged, adjusting his coat with a charming vanity. "To be honest, Gabriel, I was already dead, so strictly speaking, you didn't see me die. You simply saw me decay. Something that could be rectified."

"Rectified?" Van Helsing shook his head, his hands on the rough bark of the tree behind him cut into his fingers as they tightened on it. "Why are you here, Dracula? Why are you outside of the Carpathians?"

With a graceful gesture, the vampire paced a little to one side, then back, seeming to enjoy how Van Helsing's eyes tracked his every movement. "You speak as if you're not glad to see me, Gabriel."

The snort of incredulous laughter that greeted Dracula's statement was hardly flattering without the words that followed. "Glad to see you? I danced on your ashes, Dracula. I thanked God you were dead. If you're alive, then Anna died for _nothing_! It was all for nothing."

"Poor Gabriel. If I had a heart to break, I'm sure it would have a crack or two by now."

"I was hoping for a deep gaping wound, actually."

The Count's voice caught in a soft chuckle "Such bitterness. How delightful! Truthfully, I thought you enjoyed my company–why else would you be wandering the woods alone at night? I can't believe you wouldn't know better."

"I wasn't expecting you," Van Helsing muttered ruefully, then growled when the vampire laughed again. "So what does it take to kill you this time, Dracula? I'm out of werewolves. Would a silver bullet through the chest suffice?"

"An intriguing notion," the vampire purred, then shrugged. "We could try it...and even if it doesn't work, think of it as foreplay."

"Foreplay?" the hunter snarled. "An odd choice of words. It won't be 'foreplay' the next time–it will be final."

Dracula shivered, his black eyes closed in an expression that Van Helsing could only describe to himself as pleasure. Patently, that was ridiculous.

"The sun's about to come up, Dracula–it's almost dawn. Shouldn't you be running home like a good vampire?"

The count's face, fully visible now in the graying light, had an almost pleasant expression on it. The vampire seemed to be enjoying himself. And, Van Helsing noted with disgust, his skin and lips had color in them. Evidently, the vampire had fed earlier.

"Indeed I should, Gabriel. We...should." Van Helsing's eyebrow rose in a sardonic arch.

"We? Why don't you start without me, _Vlad_. I'll just stay here and enjoy the sunrise."

The Count's red lips made a small moue of sadness, his white hands raising palm up before him as though in supplication. "But Gabriel, when can I expect such a chance again? To find you alone, without those nasty, and I must sadly inform you largely ineffective, weapons? If I want to talk with you...spend time with you, I must take my opportunities as they come. But, fortunately,  
my castle can easily accommodate us both."

The vampire's eyes glittered in the moonlight as they moved over Van Helsing's body with an expression he didn't recognize. He assumed it was blood lust...but there was something more that made his skin crawl and a growl rumble in his chest.

"Some other time," Van Helsing shifted his position, easing to one side of the tree, feeling his hair snag on the rough bark behind him.

The Count's smile faded slightly, his dark eyes growing hard and predatory. "I really must insist. It's not a long journey, but it must be now. And as I must carry you, my progress with be slower. So you will come with me, now."

Van Helsing was already throwing the glass ball and dropping to the ground when the Count rushed him. He heard the ball hit the ground between them and then the muffled "whoomp" of the explosion that seemed to pick up the forest and shake it. He was thrown by a wall of force further into the woods and allowed it, rolling with the concussion, with arms about his head and face.

Fetching up hard against the trunk of a tree, he groaned with the impact. It was an effort to retain consciousness as he lay in the mulch, smelling the scent of life and decay in the detritus. The world around him was shockingly quiet. No sounds of life, no wind, nothing.

Then he heard it–the muffled beat of fantastically large wings. The shock of adrenaline that sound produced surged through his body, driving him staggering to his feet and into a stumbling run through the trees. He dodged around the trunks, trying to circle back to the clearing he'd just left, knowing the rising sun's rays would soon fill it and effectively bar Dracula from taking him. Evidently the vampire realized this as well, because he didn't follow Van Helsing so much as he simply suddenly appeared in his way, barring access to the edge of the forest.

Dracula had morphed back into the winged form that he used for hunting. Large, muscular, dead white, he was the thing of nightmares. His long arms ended in outrageously large hands with attenuated claw-tipped fingers that spread out as though to snatch the fleeing man as he ran straight toward the vampire.

Van Helsing's boots slid in the slick mulch as he threw himself back from Dracula's swiping grasp just in time. His chest was heaving for breath that froze into white cloudy bursts in the icy air. A detached part of his mind noted that the air about the vampire was disturbingly clear–no sign of breath escaped his mouth.

The vampire stalked him, his mouth open to expose long canines. The beast didn't look remotely human, but when he spoke, it was with Dracula's voice and the tone with disconcertingly reasonable.

"Gabriel, no more playing. We must away to home."

The man backed away, stumbling slightly over the roots and sticks on the ground. He shook his head as he tried to rein in his loud gasps. "Home, Vlad? Since when? You don't make a home..you infest, like lice. Why would I want to have any part of that?"

A sudden darkening of the beast's face informed the hunter that Dracula's playful mood had dissipated. His speed was incredible, though Van Helsing had been prepared for it, he couldn't prevent himself from being struck and hurled back into the forest to slide helplessly over the ground for several feet. The vampire followed, his clawed feet falling heavily on the ground,  
crushing the forest litter beneath with brittle reports.

Van Helsing groaned as he rose onto his elbows, fingers digging into the earth. He lay on his stomach and he could feel the damp of the ground along the full length of him. It sapped his strength and seemed to cling to him as though to keep him there in its embrace. A distasteful fantasy that he had no desire to indulge, but it was very hard to get up just the same. He hurt all over, and the pain he felt suggested that he was in bad shape.

The vampire seemed surprised when he rose to his feet, however shakily. "Gabriel, you are as stubborn as I remember–perhaps more so. I have no desire to hurt you, don't force me to with your ridiculous refusals. You have no chance to prevail against me–give in, allow me to take us both back to the castle in one piece."

"One piece, huh," he growled as he rubbed then held his ribs and grimaced. "It's a little late for that. Do us both a favor, just go!"

"I will go, when I have you safely in hand," the vampire growled back and reached for the man.

Dropping and rolling to the side, Van Helsing scrambled up and ran only to fall again as his ankle twisted on the muddy ground. He sprawled awkwardly and cursed the forest in general and himself specifically. Scrabbling to get to his feet, he snarled when his calf was seized by a large hand that dragged him backwards and up, clawing at the earth. As his hips left the ground, he rolled and kicked at the vampire leaning over him. His boot heel struck the broad white muzzle solidly and the grasp on his calf faltered, dropping him back to the ground. Immediately, he lashed out again with both feet at one of the vampire's knees and the beast fell forward with a cry, landing heavily on top of him.

Dracula clutched at his shoulders, chuckling into his face, foul breath washing over him with the sickening stench of old blood. Scant inches separated their faces now; he could see the intelligence in the black obsidian eyes and a pleased half smile on the beast's lips. From Dracula's mouth, a long black tongue emerged to lap wetly at Van Helsing's lips and he gasped as his stomach's contents surged up. His eyes slammed shut and he turned his face away, then felt the vampire lick his throat and shudder with pleasure.

"Gabriel," Dracula moaned as the beast's large hands cupped his head and forced his face back. Almost delicately, the muzzle opened to allow the long black tongue to emerge and lick his lips again.

It was an unthinking response that caused his leg to jerk up and his knee to bury itself between the vampire's legs. Dracula howled with anguish, but the large hands only tightened more firmly on Van Helsing's skull. Then Van Helsing felt the beast's weight shift and one of the long legs shoved roughly between his own. He snarled as Dracula settled between his legs, shivering as he felt the vampire's hips settle heavily over his.

"Get off me," he growled, his eyes flying open to meet the gaze of the beast over him. He saw the muzzle wrinkle in a parody of a broad smile.

"Why would I do that, Gabriel? You are beautiful, warm, soft. True, you cannot give me children as my brides could, but you do give me something they could not."

"What?" the hunter gasped, "What can you possibly get from me? Blood? Revenge?"

The beast chuckled. "No, little Gabriel. You can give me the memory of feelings. With your scent in my nostrils, your taste on my tongue, and your body beneath mine, I remember what it felt like to enjoy the agony of another's thwarted hatred. The memory is strong and I feel alive again holding you this way. It is a truly exquisite sensation."

Purring at the shock he saw in Van Helsing's eyes, Dracula rocked his hips into the hunter's and shivered as the man beneath him groaned through gritted teeth. "It has been a long time since I have taken the body of a living man. I remember it as being particularly pleasurable. Tell me you feel it too, that you want it as much as I."

"No!"

The beast paused, as if in surprise. "No? Gabriel...what do you remember of us? Of our past together."

"Nothing," the hunter snarled, his hazel eyes almost swallowed by the black of his pupils. "I don't want to remember anything about you."

The beast purred as he watched the warm breath emerge in ragged panting gasps from Van Helsing's mouth to freeze into white clouds. "Mmm, I remember life, Gabriel. I remember what it felt like to breathe, to draw the sharp cold air into my lungs and to expel it as warm moisture-laden mist."

With the memory, Dracula's form fluxed and changed, once more resuming the shape he'd worn during his living years. Van Helsing's eyes widened as they took in his face, his eyes, and Dracula smiled.

"Yes, remember me Gabriel. Let the memories of your time with me come to you–don't fight them."

"I don't want them. I don't want you, Dracula, not even as a memory."

Dracula shivered over the hunter, closing his eyes as he tilted his head, drawing his tongue over his lips as though savoring a fine wine. Van Helsing cursed with anger as he realized he'd given Dracula pleasure. He shoved against the body over his, testing the new form for strength, hoping that the human-like form did not contain the strength of the beast. His efforts had some results, but not enough. Dracula was weaker in this form, but he was still much stronger than any human could hope to be.

Purring, Dracula rocked his hips into Van Helsing's as he lowered his head and took the hunter's mouth. He swallowed the groan of hatred that came from Van Helsing's soul with every evidence of pleasure and pressed for more. Eagerly, Dracula sucked on the hunter's lower lip, drawing it into his own mouth. One fang grazed the tender flesh and the vampire suckled at the blood released shivering with pleasure so intense he moaned out loud.

"Gabriel," the vampire moaned as he rubbed his cheek against the hunter's. "I remember...I feel such strange feelings. It's been so long since I felt anything, now it's almost too much. I remember such anger...such raw screaming hatred flowing over me, over my lips and tongue, to fill and warm my cold dead flesh. Can you not feel it as well?"

"Drink your fill of it Dracula, and I pray you choke on it," Van Helsing spat, his body writhing beneath the vampire's.

Dracula threw back his head, laughter bubbling up to spew forth from him in loud raucous waves. "Mmmm, yes! You flood my mind with such images, such cold pricklings and surges of unexpected warmth. It's both devastating and wonderful. I can hear your heart now–it beats so quickly... The feeling of it, of moving pulsing life. Such a wonderful gift... Shall I return the favor? Shall I end your suffering by draining the life from it like I would milk the last scalding drop of orgasm from my body? One frantic blinding instant of self-immolation and then lose yourself in the sublime act of death-without thought or awareness, totally helpless in the throes of your body's final exultation."

Eagerly, the vampire lunged forward, pressing his mouth onto Van Helsing's once more. He shivered with pleasure as he sucked at the swollen lips and chuckled when Van Helsing's moan came to his ears a moment later. His tongue pressed at the hunter's lips, demanding ingress and he snarled when it was refused. Long pale fingers clamped around Van Helsing's jaw and brutally forced it open, allowing his tongue to surge inwards for the first time.

Van Helsing's hands clenched on brocade cloth beneath his fingers as his eyes slammed shut,  
refusing to see Dracula over him. He couldn't shut out the sensations though, of Dracula's cold wet mouth on his, his tongue voluptuously rubbing and tasting, lapping and swallowing with erotic ecstacy.

An unbidden image came to Van Helsing, of Anna kissing him, Anna's soft lips on his mouth and the soft warm pleasure he had felt. It had felt so right to hold her, to feel her body pressed to his with the promise of pleasure to come. He loved the taste of her mouth, of her body. It gave him pleasure to remember that now, to feel her presence again. He wanted to embrace that pleasure gladly but another pleasure had taken its place–Carl. With the remembrance of Carl, he set Anna's image away from him and turned his face away from the vampire above him.

Dracula rose above him, awareness returned slowly to the vampire's eyes-he blinked down at the man below him as if surprised to see him. Then he smiled, lowering his head again to speak into the hunter's ear as his fingers, gentle on Van Helsing's jaw, stroked the sweating flesh.

"Gabriel...Gabriel...," he crooned. "Beg me...pray for me to release you from life so that you may join your Anna in death."

"Vlad...", Van Helsing whispered and felt the vampire still against him as Dracula's face slowly rose to his, triumph shining from the black obsidian eyes–eyes that bore no resemblance to anything human. "Go to Hell!" Van Helsing growled and struck the vampire with his fist and with all his strength.

Dracula's head snapped back and as his hold on Van Helsing faltered, the hunter shoved hard against the body above his and slid out from beneath the vampire, rolling away and up onto his feet. He ran again, in a drunken stagger, throwing himself out of the trees and into the clearing to fall face first onto the cold ground in a puddle of sunlight.

The light was distressingly anemic and he prayed it would be enough to stop the vampire. He knew that the Count could withstand a limited amount of the sun's light, could even manipulate the weather if the conditions were right. Despite the fact he was sweating, he felt his body shiver as the crackling breakage of forest litter informed him the vampire approached the woods' edge.  
Van Helsing had no more fight in him, nothing left to give to preserve himself. If Dracula could come at him now, he didn't know how he would stop the vampire from taking him.

His dirty battered hands shoved the tangled wet strands of his hair from his face, as he rose to his elbows to look back at Dracula.

The man whose image provoked such evocative half images in Van Helsing's clouded memory stood in the shadows of the wood, half obscured by its shadows and the still pre-dawn light. The vampire looked at his prey with an unreadable expression, as though he too were still caught in memories rather than in reality. Then Dracula's dark eyes rose from Van Helsing to the sky, fixed there with a look of absolute conviction.

And the light around them faded as the sky darkened with a gathering fog.

The vampire slayer's eyes snapped upwards, watching the sky betray him. "No," he murmured, "No, don't let him win. He cannot win if I'm to do your work."

In answer to his words, the formerly docile wind began to whistle in the clearing and through the trees, shredding the mist into pockets and allowing sunlight to patchily fill the clearing.

A primal howl screamed out from the woods, causing Van Helsing's eyes to snap back to the vampire and see him raise his fists to the sky. His face was stark white, the ruddy lips pulled back to reveal distorted jaws full of sharp jagged teeth. The howl became guttural words that with the rising wind and the distance between them should have been impossible to understand but Van Helsing heard and understood them as if they had been spoken within his own skull.

"No! This will not be allowed! He is mine–it was promised! Not now, not when I'm so close!"

Van Helsing rolled up onto his hip, his movement causing the vampire's eyes to snap back to him. They were completely deathless black with no sign of anything human in them, not the slightest trace of white shown from their reflective surface. They cast about the clearing, judging the gathering light and the monster snarled at it. Taking one step from the trees, Dracula extended a pale white hand toward Van Helsing. It was the hand of the beast, whose long fingers terminated in dark claws curving up from the ends.

"Gabriel!" the fingers twitched, beckoning. "Come here, now!"

The hunter looked at the outstretched hand and felt the lure of the vampire's mind curl about his senses, disgusting, cloying, making his body twitch as tho to rise while his mind screamed at him to look away. It took all of his will just to shake his head, while keeping himself from throwing his body back into the tree line.

The vampire snarled, again the hand beckoned, this time a peremptory movement. "Gabriel you will come to me!"

The force of Dracula's will slammed into Van Helsing like a club, causing him to groan and half rise to stumble toward the trees only to fall to his hands and knees as a screaming denial of the vampire's glamour arose in his thoughts and caused a memory to bubble up and burst to the surface.

Carl smiling at him, lying amid the rumpled linens of his bed, thoroughly happy. The love between them came so easily, so naturally, and made him, for the first time, completely at peace. Anna was gone–when she died, he thought he would as well. But somehow, he had continued on. He had refused to give up then as he knew that he would refuse now.

His body was tired, beaten down, and his mind was lacerated. He could only shake his head as he raised his eyes to the vampire that awaited him.

The dead white hand dropped then, and the vampire lord faded back into the trees as though he glided on the air. His voice was faint but distinguishable on the winds that still swirled through the trees.

"Another night then, Gabriel. Soon."

TBC


	3. Hide and Seek 3

Title: Hide and Seek-3  
Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to Discovery and Disillusion  
Summary: The Vatican faces another attack and a new Hunter emerges–whether he likes it or not!  
**Notes: I have an idea that starts to manifest itself at the end of this chapter. Please let me know what you think of it as a means to bring Carl and Gabriel back together even if they're not in the same place.  
**Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the start of slash (in a loving relationship)  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**_Feedback: _**For all of you who followed the past stories, I hope that you find this story equally as interesting if not more so! Your reviews and suggestions are, as always, deeply appreciated! Due to Fanfiction rules I am unable to thank you in depth but I would like to say thanks to reviewers **Chibi-Kaz****Jania****Fluffy Vampire****Pineapple Ice**

_**

* * *

****Hide and Seek – 3  
**  
"CAAARRRRLLLLLL!" _

The friar's head jerked upright as the cry resounded in his aching head. 'Good Lord', he thought,  
'can't an honest man enjoy a good pity without being interrupted by...'

"CAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLl!"

"HEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRE!" he bellowed as he shoved his way to his feet. "What the double damn IS it?"

Pounding footsteps were heading his way now. Carl pocketed the cloth scrap he'd been mooning over and carefully positioned himself so that he wouldn't be run over. Just in time-Benerd barrelled into the room and right over Carl's previous spot to rebound painfully off a wall. Snorting, Carl caught the reeling monk and eased him down onto the only intact chair.

"Benerd, one of these days you're going to kill yourself or me," Carl swore, his blue eyes filled with a fondness that removed the sting of his words. "Now what is it?"

"V...v...vvvvv..."

"Got that. Next letter?"

"Aaaaamp...iires," the monk gasped and collapsed against the chair back, which creaked audibly and gave up the ghost.

"Vampires! Nonsense! It's broad daylight!" the friar scolded as he cast a quick glance out of the room's open window. He didn't see anything but blue sky without a cloud in sight. He did however see more of Benerd than he wanted to when he looked back at the monk.

Carl growled as he grabbed one of the monk's waving chubby pink legs. "Give me your hand. And hold still, or you'll lay me out yet!" "

A hand came up out of the welter and waved at Carl, which he dutifully chased before he was able to procure a good hold and yanked the monk up. Steadying the other man by the shoulders, he forced Benerd to meet his eyes as he spoke calmly.

"Where are the...er...vampires? What do they look like?"

"Circling above the Gardens. Two women...well, vaguely women...I suppose."

"Wings? Dead white? Black eyes and lots of teeth?"

The monk's head bobbed like a fishing lure in rough waters, then paused. "And feathers," he added thoughtfully.

Carl's lips compressed into a resolute line. "Oh, right then, harpies–not vampires. I'll need to get some height on them. Probably the top of Borgia Tower, they won't be expecting that–Benerd, go get my gun and meet me up there."

"_Your_ gun?" the monk's eyes widened as he took in Carl from the tips of his twitching upturned haircut to the hole in his sleeve down to the frayed hem of his robe.

The friar crossed his arms, allowing a little snarkiness to enter his voice. "Yes, MY gun. The tojo gun. You've seen me use it. Unless YOU want to go out and fight those things?"

"Nononono, definitely not! But Carl, are you sure?"

The friar sighed as he turned away, rapidly picking his way over the rubble at his feet to exit the door. His answer floated back to the monk as his running footsteps were heard in the stone hallway.

"Absolutely not! And hurry _up_ with my gun!"

* * *

"_Dah dah dahDAHdah, dum de dumdum_," Carl breathily hummed as he scaled the steps to the rooftop balconey of the Borgia Tower two at a time. Humming the inspiring pontifical hymn, _Inno Pontificio_, somehow seemed appropriate for the occasion; if he allowed himself to think, Carl would be the first to agree with Benerd that what he was about to do was crazy in the extreme. But it also seemed the right thing to do. And he was certain he was the only one to do it.

"_Pontifx, Tu Christi es Vicarius super teram_,  
_rupes inter fluctus, Tu es pharus in tenebris; (oh boy, there they aaaarrre)_  
_Tu pacis es vindex, Tu es unitatis custos, (yech-how come Gabriel gets the beautiful vampires)  
vigil liberatatis defensor; in Te potestas. . ." (and I get the homely haaarpiiiees?)  
_  
The winged women hadn't noticed him in the Tower yet. They were taking their time, swooping on the land-bound Vatican guard, easily dodging clumsily shot arrows that descended to wound the archers and guards below. The language spewing forth from the monsters in the form of invective was foul and made Carl blush–what they were saying made his occasional daring forays into the domain of cussing seem rather tame.

Rolling up his sleeves, Carl scouted for the position that would give him the best shot. He was careful to keep out of sight, it certainly wouldn't do to tip off his position to the two monsters until he was ready.

_"Tu pacis es vindex, Tu es unitatis custos, (where the hell are you, Benerd)  
vigil libertatis defensor; in Te potestas, (I'd really like to get off this roooof now)  
O felix Roma – O Roma nobilis" (before they spot and gut me like a chiiickennn!)  
_  
Finally! Bending double and scuttling over the floor, Carl dived at the stairwell to snatch at the tojo gun being waved weakily by a badly-gasping monk.

"Good, you brought an extra cannister. Give it to me if I call for it."

Rolling up onto his feet, Carl moved quickly to the spot he'd picked out, lifting the gun to his cheek and sighting with it. The harpies had grown weary of their sport, they were now looking for blood. Their dives on the men on the ground were vicious, bowling them over easily, the monstersthen used long black claws that curved from their feet to rake at exposed flesh.

Swallowing a surge of bile at the amount of blood now running in the streets, Carl made sure of his sighting one last time, then called out loudly, "Hey! Ugly! Over here!"

The two monsters paused in their strafing, hovering in mid-air, searching for the source of the call. Carl could only assume they were used to the appellative because they didn't seem to question it was meant for them. Waving an arm to get their attention, he prayed they'd come right for him. He couldn't take the chance of shooting at down at them when they were among the men on the streets. He needed them to ascend, preferably toward him.

They spotted his waving arm and, sweet Jesus, they were coming _right_ for him.

"Mother of God, forgive our sins," Benerd muttered, inching up to Carl to pluck at his sleeve. "Shouldn't you shoot now? Now would be good, I think!"

"Have some patience. And stop fidgeting at me!" Carl snapped. He forced himself to calm, took a deep breath, and held it. In one smooth move, he raised the tojo gun to his cheek, sighted and fired on the nearest harpy. The small whirling blades shot out in a stream, tearing into the monster with a vengence. Blood and body parts sprayed everywhere, striking the other harpy, causing it to falter in the air. Carl paused for an instant to verify his aim and pressed the trigger again. The second harpy exploded, raining down on the street below in a disgusting cloud of red.

He'd done it. He'd slain the monsters. Julibation gave way very quickly to shock as the receding adrenaline left Carl with violent tremors. Stumbling back, the gun fell from his fingers to clatter onto the stone at his feet. He raised one hand to his forehead and scrubbed his hair back from his eyes then leaned heavily on the balustrade wall.

"Well...t..that seems...seems to have done it," he stuttered and flashed a sickly smile at Benerd.

"Yes...rather nicely," Benerd mumured as he looked at the street below. His gaze, when he redirected it at Carl, held an amazement that could have been considered unflattering if Carl had been in any frame of mind to notice it. "Carl...what you did... Are you all right?"

"Yes yes. Perfectly. Do this all the time you know," Carl muttered as he gripped the stone wall, then let out a gusty sigh with a wry smile. "Actually, now that I think of it...I think this would be the second time I've done it."

"Oh," Benerd swallowed as he tentatively patted Carl's shoulder. "Well...damn fine show. I don't think Van Helsing could have done it better."

Carl smiled as he pried his fingers off the wall to push them through his fine blond hair. It was soaked with sweat, he imagined he looked like a drowned rat. Then he took another look down at the street below–the Vatican guard and the other members of the Order were now looking up–at him. He'd done it. He'd actually done it. Who cared if he looked like a drowned rat–he was a Victorious drowned rat and that's all that counted.

A flash of red, brighter than the gore that washed the streets, emerged from the doors below–Cardinal Jinette had arrived. His voice rose easily in the still air.

"The beasts–they're gone?"

"Yes sir," a guard straightened up from where he was tending a fallen comrade to salute the Cardinal.

"Who dispatched them? Did you?"

"No sir."

"Come on man, don't make me wait for it. Who did it? Van Helsing isn't back, is he?"

"Er...no sir...I don't believe so," the guard was hesitant to commit one way or the other as to the missing Van Helsing, but his voice firmed up as he pointed to the tower rising above them. "HE dispatched the monsters, sir. The other Hunter."

"Other hunter? What are you talking about?" Cardinal Jinette snapped as he whirled and looked up. His mouth fell open as he spotted Carl looking down at him and saw the friar wave a hand before disappearing from sight.

"Carl?" Jinette breathed, incredulous. "Good Lord." Abruptly, he became aware again of the men in the street–they were watching him, waiting to be told what to do, to be reassured. Thoughtfully, Jinette raised his eyes to the tower again, then made a decision.

"Well of course it was Carl, who else would it be? Fine, he's dispatched the monsters–that's his job after all. Get busy cleaning up here. Take the wounded to the physicians to be patched up."

"Yes sir," the guard snapped a salute and turned to start the slow process of recovering from the attack, directing willing helpers to their tasks.

Jinette mounted the steps slowly, his face thoughtful. "Carl," he murmured, then smiled. "Maybe this is going to work out after all."

* * *

In the anemic light of early dawn, Van Helsing arrived at the village of Dietz by dragging one foot in front of the other. He'd covered the miles from the forest to the town through sheer force of will. Now all he wanted was to relax, to fold in on himself, and fall asleep in a soft bed for the next several days. He didn't have much hope of that, but he lied to himself, promising that and more if he just kept moving, kept forcing one foot then the other to move. He'd made it to the village that way. Now, as tired as he was, he wasn't sure even the lie would suffice to get him to an inn. 

Only by keeping his eyes firmly planted on the large dark building whose signage promised room and board, believing that it was always closer, always just barely out of reach, had he been able to trick his mind and body into finally reaching the door. After that, well, he was already there–it seemed silly not to go inside. He was profoundly grateful that it was too early for any of the townspeople or guests of the inn to be up yet. A hollow-eyed, pale stick of a man stood behind a tall bar, polishing glasses in preparation for the morning's trade. He eyed Van Helsing dubiously, but accepted his money readily enough.

The room the hunter was directed to was up a rickety flight of wooden stairs. As he trudged up the steps, he found himself wishing heartily that Carl had come on this trip with him. Carl would have pampered him, watched over things while he slept, made sure that he hadn't been out in the woods in the first place. No doubt Carl would have settled Dracula's lust with a nicely aimed kick, too. An evil smile lit Van Helsing's face briefly as he mentally toasted the friar.

Helet himself into his room and locked the door behind him. Two more steps to take–he allowed his heavy leather coat to fall from his shoulders into a puddle on the floor before, at last, collapsing gratefully onto the bed. Almost instantly he was asleep.

Not unexpectedly, his dreams that night were dark and full of strange sensations that made him toss and turn . When the slanting late afternoon sun spilling over him awoke the vampire hunter, he greeted it with a groan. It felt as if he'd just fallen down to sleep, but judging by the sun, it was only an hour or so until nightfall. He'd been asleep for several hours.

With an effort, he forced himself to sit up, swaying precariously on the edge of the bed until he got his balance. He was exhausted. He felt as if the sleep had done him little or no good and his mind was already blazing with memories of the previous night. Quietly, he cursed those memories as he forced himself up to his feet and, staggering slightly, made his way over to the small stand that held a wash basin and a pitcher of chill water. He poured most of it into the bowl and proceded to wash himself, roughly stripping off his dirty torn clothing as he went. There were bruises galore, evidently his fight in the forest had not been a dream, however he might wish it.

He blushed to discover that his mouth and jaw were tender from the mauling they had received and felt anger at Dracula all over again. _Damnit_! Death he was prepared for. Injuries were a fact of life. The memory of Dracula's mouth on his made him shudder. In his memories, he relived Anna's death once again. He felt the pain of realizing she had died by his deed, not the monster's he'd just killed. It had been bearable because Dracula was dead—now it was a another nightmare to add to a growing collection. Angrily, Van Helsing scrubbed at his face, determined to remove even the slightest trace of Dracula.

As he worked, the room gradually darkened with approaching night. He grimly dressed in clean clothing, watching the sun set out of the corner of his eye. He really...REALLY...did not want to go out and look for Dracula. The idea of hunting for an impossible-to-kill, impossibly-strong vampire ranked at an all-time low. When Jinette had asked him to come to Bavaria to find the witches' coven, he'd been less than enthusiastic. By comparison to how he felt about this mission now, he'd practically jumped on Jinette's lap and kissed him with slobbering gratitude.

By the time he'd pulled on his sweater, the sun was fully set and the night noises in the courtyard below had begun. Crickets and other nightlife were putting up quite a racket. He welcomed it–as long as they were singing, there wasn't a vampire in...

**  
-Silence-**

_Damn_.

Van Helsing dived for his coat and the weapons inside it as he heard the thunderous flapping of huge wings coming straight for the inn. He didn't know if it was Dracula, but he wouldn't be surprised. He heard the screaming now–people running, screaming, trying to get out of the way of the vampire coming in to feed.

His hands were on his coat, yanking it open, scrabbling for the tojos when the roof fell on him.

The din of the collapsing structure was incredible; everything seemed to explode and fall directly on him, burying him in rubble. He was aware of falling and curling himself up into as tight a ball as he could manage to try to avoid the majority of the falling rubble. It worked to a degree, but he was still hit by what felt like every solid wood beam in the roof. He groaned as a particularly vicious blow flattened him against what felt like a boulder in the pit of his stomach. Squirming experimentally, he groaned with real feeling as a beam shifted and pinned him like a bug. Not good. 

He still heard the screams outside, and he raled at the beam pinning him. If he moved, he would be taking a chance of crushing his back. He wondered if his body would heal that as it did all his other aches and ills. Probably, but not soon enough. _Hell_!

Groaning, Van Helsing shoved at the beam, feeling it grind into his hips and back with a vengeance. Shoving up from the block he was pinned to, Van Helsing twisted as far around as he was able to view the beam and debris lying on top of him.

It was very dark, but he could see the darker bulk of the heavy beam on top of him. It was massive–obviously one of the main support beams. And it was holding a ton of rubble off of him. Van Helsing swallowed as he realized he really was buried beneath almost the entire inn. Even if he did get out from beneath the beam, how would he get out to the street?

If he could hear the screams, he had to be close to street level. There had to be an opening. He just had to find it.

Wriggling and groaning heart-felt and unrepenently blasphemous curses, the hunter gradually pulled himself out from under the beam to drop to the ground below. As expected, the beam settled more and debris came raining down-he covered his head and curled up against the block to avoid as much of it as possible. When the noise abated, he opened his eyes, squinting in the thick dust.

Merciful God, there was light above him. And the noises of the panic outside were loud and clear. And he was definitely going to be killing a vampire...starting...right...now.

Scrabbling up through the rubble and over the huge beam, Van Helsing shoved and clawed his way to the street, emerging from the wreckage like one of the dead from the cold earth. He was torn, dirty, and angry. People were running all around him, shoving each other, unthinkingly knocking one another down in their efforts to save themselves.

Looking up into the night sky he found the source of their panic without trouble. Not a vampire-gargoyles. Three of them. Their heavy white bodies swooped and dived; they cackled in hoarse guffaws as they seized a hapless victim, carried the poor soul upward, then tore him apart casting the pieces to the ground below as missiles. The brutes were impossibly huge and obviously too heavy to fly, but they swooped through the air like swallows. Not too heavy to fly then...but much too heavy to swim...

Grimly, Van Helsing cast about for a weapon, inwardly lamenting the loss of his coat and its amazing store of deadly tools. He spotted an axe and appropriated it, judging its weight with an experimental swing. It wasn't on a par with Carl's works of art, but it would do the trick.

Holding the axe before him with both hands, Van Helsing moved to the center of the street and into plain sight. Gargoyles were not stupid, but once they had killed they tended to become reckless. Alone, woefully underarmed, and in plain sight, Van Helsing appeared to be the sort of prey that they could hardly pass up.

As expected, he heard their guttural shouts upon sighting him and saw them dive. Crouching, he ran, leading them toward the town well. They followed, screaming and cursing, harsh laughter rolling obscenely over the carnage in the streets.

He reached the well's edge and turned, already bringing up the axe in a singing arc–it caught the first gargoyle that had been breathing down his neck on the wing spine, crushing it. He kept turning, dragging on it and altering its crash trajectory so that it hit the well rim and fell shrieking into the dark hole. Dimly he heard the splash below but paid no attention, turning to the other two beasts. The second was already on him, knocking aside the axe so that it toppled into the well. Chuckling now, it seized his throat in a choking grip.

With no time for subtlety, he seized the arm and rolled backward onto the well's rim, slamming his foot into the gargoyle's stomach,and heaving with all his strength. The thing flew over his head, releasing him as it fell into the well. A second dull splash from below informed him the gargoyles had been reunited.

Just one remaining. It, however, refused to come down. Having seen its companions meet their ends, the third was leery now. It realized the hunter wasn't the usual easy prey, but it was too stupid to flee, instead it looked for a way to take him. If it couldn't find a way, it would leave and come back later, when he was gone.

Gritting his teeth, the hunter moved away from the well, holding his arms out at his sides to show himself weaponless. That was all the last gargoyle had been waiting for. It dived on him in a flat trajectory that caught Van Helsing in the ribs and carried them both into the wall of a partially demolished building.

He felt the air rush out of his lungs and wheezed as he shoved away from the stunned beast. It was shaking its head, levering itself up onto it's hands and feet, it wouldn't be stunned for long. Van Helsing whirled looking for a weapon, anything that he could use on the beast. He finally settled for a large stone. Hefting it above his head he allowed himself a tight dark smile as the thing looked up to meet his eyes.

"Good night," he growled, and brought the stone down on the bulbous head.

It dropped flat, its dark blood flooding out over Van Helsing's hands to spill to the pale stoney ground below. With a grimmace, he dropped the stone and stepped back to sag against the wall behind him.

He rested against the wall for a long time, only vaguely becoming aware of movement around him as the moments passed. When he finally recalled himself, he found a crowd had gathered, forming a half-circle around him while maintaining a respectful distance. It occurred to him that he should be more alert, feel the need for a weapon in his hand even. But he just couldn't work up the energy. Instead, he allowed himself to slowly sink down, sliding against the wall until he was seated on the cold earth, his eyes closing even as he dimly saw the circle close on him.

* * *

When he awoke, he was in a bed covered with a bright patched quilt. The combination of the soft mattress beneath him and the warm quilt over him made him want to moan with pleasure. Instead, he settled for stretching carefully. There were a few twinges to remind him that he'd been in a fight, but overall he felt quite good. 

Stretching had also proven that he was quite naked. He resisted the urge to snatch the coverlet to his chest. He did, however, allow his eyes to wander about the about the room he currently found himself in.

It was small, hardly more than a closet, and dark–by the light of a single candle, he was able to see what appeared to be bookshelves--a large one that stretched floor to ceiling and from one corner to the next was opposite his bed. A window was on the wall at the bottom of the room, but beneath it the owner had thriftily placed more shelves.Hs bed was pushed up against the third wall and the door occupied the last.

By stretching one arm out, he could just reach one of the bookshelves and ease a book out of its place to fall into his palm. It should have been too dark to make anything of the pages, but Van Helsing was finding more and more that his senses were sharper than they had been. Than they should be. He was able to make out the large print on the title page without difficulty–evidently it was a journal of some sort. The face page was written in a heavy hand in black ink that contrasted harshly on the white paper. "Josef Schwiigel, 1801-1805". Looking up from the journal, he considered the other books on the shelves thoughtfully. In these books, he might find the answers he sought.

A soft step outside the door to his room prompted Van Helsing to slide the book under his pillow and resettle himself under the comforter. He didn't attempt to hide the fact he was awake because he wanted to meet his host.

It turned out his host was a woman. He felt his cheeks heat with a hard flush as he realized it must have been she who had undressed him.

She carried another candle, raising it high enough so that he could see her clearly. She was quite plain and young, perhaps in her late teens or the first two years of her twenties. She had dark hair and dark eyes–something about her eyes recalled the image of Mavis Carter to his mind. Her dress was a plain woolen affair, appearing dark in the dim light with no ornamentation.

She remained silent during his perusal, obviously willing to let him look his fill. When he blinked,  
licked his lips, and looked away, she moved further into the room to set the candle down on the small table beside the bed.

"Are you feeling better?" Her husky voice was pitched low and had a pronounced accent. When he didn't answer, she made a move to pull the comforter down only to be halted by his hands holding it tight.

"I'm fine."

"You are not. You were hurt, I saw..."

"I heal quickly," he insisted. "Where are my clothes? Where am I? Who are you?"

She smiled for the first time, the warmth of it reached her dark eyes and made her less plain.

"A lot of questions. Which should I answer first?"

Van Helsing adjusted his head on the pillow to see her better, a return smile touching his lips. "I'm sorry. Please, what is your name?"

The girl nodded, moving to seat herself on the end of his bed at his feet. She folded her hands into her lap, making herself comfortable before answering.

"I am Gretchen Schwiigel. This is my father's house. I am his fifth daughter, though I am the only daughter who still lives here. Also in this house is my father, my mother, my two brothers–one younger, one older." Her smile widened into a mischievous grin. "I did not undress you, you need not worry about that."

Van Helsing's eyes dropped to his hands still holding the edge of the comforter to his chest and he smiled a little more broadly as he eased his grip.

"I have some skill with medicines, that is why I came to look in on you rather than my father. It was he who took your clothing. They have been washed–they were covered in blood. They dry now, outside the house. In the morning, you may have them back."

The hunter nodded, then turned his eyes to the shelves gesturing at the books they contained.

"Your family reads a great deal?"

Gretchen nodded. "Yes. My mother is a teacher. She taught us English. She taught us to enjoy the reading very much."

"And your father? He is a farmer?" Van Helsing asked and received a nod in confirmation.

"He and my brothers. My sisters also married farmers. Most of the villagers are tradesmen–they called us to take care of you. What you did, fighting the demons–it was good. We are in your debt."

Van Helsing shook his head, feeling the feather pillow beneath it move softly in response. He was still so tired, and the lure of the sinfully comfortable bed made it difficult to continue to press Gretchen for answers. Apparently, she saw this as well because she stood up, retrieving her candle.

"You will sleep, you need it. I think you have not slept well for a long time."

"No," Van Helsing lowered his eyes, looking at the comforter under his fingertips. "I'm worried about someone I had to leave behind to come here. It preys on my mind."

"Ah. Well, there are many hours of the night left and you may sleep as long as you wish into the morning. I think, if you wish it, you'll find your dreams bring you news of your loved ones."

"Gretchen, thank you. I'm sorry I was harsh earlier."

The girl smiled and shrugged. "You did not know. I do not hold it against you, so you should not worry on it. Go to sleep. Tomorrow, I will check your wounds, to see if you are a fast healer." With a determined nod, she left the small room, pulling the door closed behind her.

Van Helsing was asleep again almost before the door was shut.

TBC


	4. Hide and Seek 4

Rating: PG13

Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to Discovery and Disillusion  
Summary: Carl and Gabriel make some major discoveries  
Notes: This is a re-issue of Chptr 4-thanks to Verona, I've changed to the misspelling of the German word for 'yes' from Ya to Ja (as is correct). Thanks!

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the start of slash (in a loving relationship)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**_Feedback: _**For all of you who followed the past stories, I hope that you find this story equally as interesting if not more so! Your reviews and suggestions are, as always, deeply appreciated! Due to Fanfiction rules I am unable to thank you in depth but I would like to say thanks to reviewers**Fluffy Vampire, ****Jania, ****Pineapple Ice, ****Verona Dracula**

* * *

**Hide and Seek–4**

Darkness, cold, sounds too loud to bear but sending delicious shivers of sensation up and down his body. The air he breathed–it felt so odd to breath–it tasted so good. He could feel his body reacting to it, growing warm, becoming alive with the taste of oxygen within starved dead tissues.

'Dead'? It didn't sound right–but it was, he knew it. If he just listened to this body, it would tell him that was so.

Walking now, sliding sinuously through pale shadows over harsh stone. This place was cold, its fire banked itself in the night so that not even the divine spark could light the dominion night held. That was a lie of course, he could feel the spark if he just opened his senses. But he wasn't sure he wanted to open them–life held a lure for one such as he that was best held at bay. It dulled the allure of the dark and supplanted it with a yen for the light. He didn't want to open himself to that. There was so much still to do, to achieve. So many still to hurt and destroy.

The door was in front of him now. It opened with a creak to the touch of his fingers, swinging open to admit him to his desire.

Sprawled nude, barely covered in rumpled linens, bright and falsely wanton in the sullen moonlight while still remaining so sweet, so innocent, precious even. The gold hair that had been sweat soaked before was soft and fluffy now, sprayed over the harsh nubby cotton of a poor pillow. Everything about the room was poor except for the single gem it housed in its grubby clutches.

He sat on the bed and watched the man's chest move in deep breaths, each giving life and feeding the wonderful spark within that deceptively soft frame. Carefully, gentle as a loving mother, he pushed back the linens so that their crude scratchy embrace didn't profane the sleeper's body. Now the moon's light crept over the exposed flesh greedily, searching and caressing every inch, growing brighter with each lover's kiss it bestowed upon the man.

Leaning over, he pressed his own mouth to the moving chest, pressing into the soft flesh of one breast and kissing it with rapture, its warmth suffused his cold flesh and beckoned to life with both hands open.

Life. It had been far too long. Now he wanted it all. And he would have it. Soon.

Rising from the bed, he cast one last look at the still form, taking his time to let his mind feed itself with pleasure until surfeit was achieved. Then, quietly so as not to awaken the sleeper, he departed, allowing the door to ghost shut behind.

Carl stirred, one hand rubbing at his nose, then moving down to touch and rub away the wet spot in the shape of a kiss from his breast. Then, with a sigh, he turned to his side and drifted back to sleep.

Dawn's light came far too early–indecently so. Carl often wondered where exactly the term 'crack of dawn' had come from. Considering how he felt about that obscene hour, he could hazard a guess but felt it wiser to refrain. As it was, he was far behind in his prayers of penitence and that would certainly add a hefty number to the staggering total.

Forcing himself to sit up in the bed, Carl scratched himself and yawned hugely as he looked about. It seemed odd, somehow, to wake up as he always did after everything that had happened within the last week. He'd left the church and then returned to it. He'd falsified Jinette's signature and yet the Cardinal had hugged him as though he were glad Carl were back. He and Gabriel had slept together–well, strictly speaking, there had been very _little _actual sleep and quite a _lot_ of pleasurable groping and rubbing and...well, _quite_ a lot. They'd barely had one night together before Gabriel had been hauled off and Carl had been left behind to fight off disgusting monsters by himself.

He'd gone to bed last night missing Gabriel. At the last minute, he'd decided to forego his usual nightwear and had slept deliciously nude under the open sky. It had felt slightly wicked, but the temptation had been too great for one lonely friar to resist. At this rate, he was going to become alarmingly unwholesome before Gabriel got back. He wondered what Gabriel would make of his victory yesterday and smiled when he imagined his lover's shock and delight in his success.

Pushing up from the thin mattress, Carl stumbled over the uneven wooden floor to the rickety stand that held the wash basin. He didn't open his eyes to the small mirror behind it–why bother? He knew exactly what he'd looked like yesterday and unless Brother Albert had shaved a tonsure on him again, he knew what he would look like today. Bracing himself, Carl dived into the bowl of water, splashing it with loud cries of horror at the coldness of the water. A bar of homemade soap, hard as a rock and with as much lathering potential, allowed him to make a decent job of the washing. He forced himself to slosh the cold water into every possible warm nook and cranny until his goose bumps had goose bumps. Then, letting the soap squirt out of his hand into the basin, he dived for the clothes press, wiggling all over with shivers until he'd wrestled a ubiquitous brown robe over his wet body and rubbed the cloth harshly over his skin until he'd warmed up.

Holding his elbows tight to his body while his chattering teeth clattered like castanets, he carried the bowl of water over to the window, only remembering the soap was still inside it when he saw it tumble with the dirty water onto the flags below. Oops. Well, dammit all anyway. He'd have to get a new bar from Stores and wouldn't Brother Felcher love that. Well, there was no help for it.

Sighing, Carl finished his sartorial preparations as usual and, patting down his hair with both hands, left his room for the great unknown. Well, not really the great _unknown_. He had a fair idea this day would be like the others preceding it.

He was amazed when he found out how wrong he was. _Everything _was different. Before, the people passing him in the corridors were barely aware of his existence, now they either stopped and stared or, worse, stopped and _bowed_.

Horrified, Carl could only bob his head and hurry on, eager to get away from the sure signs of rampant madness everywhere he looked. He had no idea what had occurred to be causing this aberrant behavior, but he wished heartily that it would stop.

Brother Felcher's domain–Stores–was a welcome relief. Despite the monk's penchant for sourness and an ever-ready tongue for lectures on wastefulness, Carl was looking forward to the normalcy. If Brother Felcher was his usual self, then all was probably still all right with the world.

Except the taciturn monk wasn't himself. Not at all. Oh, his initial greetings were sour enough, but he hadn't really gotten a good look at who he was greeting. When he did, suddenly an unctuous sycophantic smirk oozed like oil over the monk's pasty visage, displaying a hitherto unsuspected mouthful of oversized teeth. Carl actually fell back a step before he could stop himself. He eyed the miscreant before him like the harbinger of the 3 horsemen. Surely, this was the last step into madness, Brother Felcher smiling. The Apocalypse had arrived.

"Ah, Friar Carl! What an honor!"

Carl resisted the urge to look behind him to see if, perchance, another 'Carl' had slipped in unawares. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, there was no denying that the monk _was_ looking, and smiling, at him.

"Er...yes, well..."

"Is there something I can get for you today? I just got in a store of talcum, very good for the skin in this cold weather. Allow me to get you a packet."

The monk dived behind the counter, muttering to himself, leaving Carl to stare at his upended wavering arse with raised eyebrows and a sense of impending breakdown.

"Here we go. I made quite a large packet for you, Friar Carl. Mustn't have you chafing, now, must we!"

"Mustn't we?" Carl murmured and winced when the man positively leered at him.

"Oh no! That wouldn't do at all! You've better things to worry about than that!"

"Ah, yes, yes, I suppose I do," Carl affirmed weakly, then raised his eyebrows at the Stores clerk. "Right?"

"Right," the monk nodded firmly. "Is there anything else you need, Friar Carl?"

"Er, yes...a cake of soap if you have..."

"Oh yes, I just got in some lovely stuff. Usually I reserve it, you know," the monk snorted and snickered alternately, leaning over the counter toward Carl to wink at the appalled friar, "for the Cardinals and such. But I'm sure I can spare a cake or two for you."

Again, the monk disappeared from sight and Carl was treated to more arse waving before Felcher upended again, waving two beautifully wrapped parcels. "Here you go, Friar Carl. Enjoy them!"

"All right. Thank you," Carl muttered, watching the monk carefully as he picked up his items. He didn't trust the man, who knew if he'd come leaping over the counter any second foaming at the mouth and calling Carl 'Mommy'?

Backing out of the room, he directed one more disbelieving glance at the smirking monk before turning and making his escape.

"St. Peter preserve us," Carl muttered, juggling his items to wipe his forehead with one threadbare sleeve.

"Carl!"

Heaving a put-upon sigh, Carl turned to face his next foray into the inexplicable, Brother Benerd.

"Carl, I'm glad to find you up and about."

"Yes, well, 'about' any way."

The monk frowned, confused at the scowling friar. Usually, Carl was the soul of brightness. He found the man's distraction and obvious displeasure uncharacteristic.

"Carl? Why are you upset? I should think , today of all days, you'd be in a fine mood."

"Eh? Today? What _is_ it about today that's got everyone so giddy? I just had a run in with Brother Felcher that would put the wind up a mule's arse! The man _smiled_ at me Benerd. I almost pissed myself!"

Instead of receiving the expected horrified sympathy, Carl was instead treated to the sight of Benerd's tonsils–disgustingly pink. healthy, dancing orbs–as he let out a strident bray of laughter. Looking at the rotund, red-faced monk, Carl had to strongly resist the urge to kick him sharply in the funny bone.

"Oh...Carl!" Benerd gasped, shaking his head as he clasped the friar about the shoulders, rocking them gently. "Don't you realize what's happened?"

"Obviously, some sort of communal madness," the friar growled, elbowing the monk to make him release his shoulders. Turning, he proceeded on his trek back to his quarters to leave off his ill-gotten booty from Stores. Benerd followed, still snorting and sniggering annoyingly.

Kicking his door open, Carl tossed the parcels on his bed before turning to Benerd with arms crossed over his chest and foot tapping. "All right, Benerd, tell me what's happened. And stop that snickering."

The monk dutifully restrained his mirth, though his bright blue eyes still twinkled mischievously at the irate friar. Placing his hands on Carl's shoulders once again, Benerd shook his head.

"Carl, you are a wonder. Yesterday you went up on the roof and slew TWO harpies. You stopped the raid single-handedly. They're calling you the next Hunter."

Carl's mouth fell open as a horrified look replaced the previous irate frown. Shaking his head, he shrugged off Benerd's hands to back away. "'Next Hunter'?" he squeaked. "Good God, No! Hell No!"

The monk blinked, his eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. "No? What do you mean 'No'?"

"It's a word, Benerd. It means 'Not Bloody Likely'. It can also substitute, in a pinch, for 'Kiss My Arse'." Carl pushed past the open-mouthed monk to barrel through his door and out into the corridor again.

"But...but, Carl!" Benerd was all but running to keep up with the friar's furious strides. "It's an _honor_..."

"HAH, HAH" Carl snarled, waving his hands about at the people in the corridors. "If it's such an honor, why isn't Gabriel happier? He's treated like a pariah, Benerd. Do you think I want that for myself? Yes! I'm proud of having done my part yesterday, and Yes! I'll do it again if needed. But I'll be double damned if I'll take Gabriel's place while he's away. Like he doesn't exist. Like he can be replaced at the drop of a hat by any friar with a gun."

Benerd was horrified at the friar's unexpected outcry, but he had enough sense to grab Carl firmly by the biceps and yank him into the Nave.

"Carl, get a hold of yourself," he hissed, casting a quick glance about to see if anyone was still listening to them. The people who had witnessed Carl's earlier tirade had mercifully moved on, obviously happy to leave the new Hunter to himself.

"Why should I when you've got a damned good hold on me now?" Carl hissed and shoved at Benerd's arms until the monk released him.

They stood, facing one another, at a loss for words. Finally, Carl sighed, his anger evaporating as he shoved a hand through his blond hair so that it fell in soft layers. Benerd noted, idly, that the friar actually looked quite acceptable that way, without the odd curled-up bits.

"Benerd, I'm sorry to be taking this out on you. It's not your fault. People have the wrong idea about me, but I suspect Cardinal Jinette will set them right as soon as he catches wind of it."

"Er," Benerd chewed his lip, his eyes dropping to the ground as he scuffed at it with one dirty sandal. "Actually, Carl, the Cardinal is agreeing with it. He's supporting the presumption, says you were just doing your job yesterday when you slew the harpies–the job of a hunter."

Carl's eyes closed as his hand flew up to whack himself smartly in the forehead. It didn't do any good, he didn't wake up. This nightmare was real. Shaking his head, he turned and stalked out of the Nave.

"Where are you going?" Benerd called worriedly.

"To my Lab. I want to take a look at the results of the forensics teams. I still need to find a spy. The rest of this...Lord...just, let it sort itself out."

The monk made no reply, instead allowing Carl to go on his way.

Carl's arrival in the smokey labs caused very little reaction, for which he was profoundly grateful. Whether or not these men thought he was the next Hunter or not, they still saw that as a far removal from the excitement and honor of creating. He tended to agree.

One person proved to be mindful of his arrival–Paul came scooting up to him with an ear-to-ear grin. Carl had to push down a twinge of guilt as he realized he hadn't made very much time for the boy since Gabriel's leave-taking. True, that really wasn't his fault, but he could have made more of an effort. So he quelled the urge to ask for some privacy, instead returning the wide smile.

"Carl! I heard! I'm thrilled for you!"

"Yes, well, thank you," the blond Friar's smile dampened considerably and he shrugged at the look of surprise his luke-warm response garnered. "Paul, what I did yesterday, I just did it because it needed doing. It doesn't mean more than that. I'm not a Hunter, not like Gabriel. I'm an Inventor." He spoke the last proudly, his shoulders going back unconsciously as he lifted his head and Paul's smile bloomed again.

"Bravo, Carl! You look magnificent! All right, 'Inventor' it is. And who says an Inventor can't do a bit of monster slaying on the side? Who better?"

Carl clapped the boy on the shoulder with a grin before turning to his work table. Paul joined him, eyeing the bits spread out over the surface curiously. "Carl, these things–they're from Van Helsing's room?"

Nodding, Carl circled the table, eyeing the items from changing angles, cadging his brains to see _something_ he hadn't seen before. "Yes, they are. And I'm convinced they hold the key to our little mystery. I just can't seem to _see_ it–something different, something that would suggest the next step, the next possibility."

Instead of looking at the items, Paul looked at Carl. The brunette's fond smile and soft eyes would have made Carl raise an eyebrow, the Friar would have remembered seeing the same sort of expression on Gabriel's face when they were making love. He didn't notice it, though, and Paul's features soon smoothed themselves out into an indulgent smile devoid of sentiment.

The items were few and appeared insignificant in nature. A plaster cast of the claw marks, ten in all, varying in depth from 1/4 to 1-1/2 inch in depth; a single long, coarse, brown hair encased in glass, unlikely to be Gabriel's; some smashed and ripped items, particularly clothing; and one book. Carl picked up the book thoughtfully, his long fingers tracing the tears in the leather cover that penetrated and destroyed the velum pages inside. Opening the book with difficulty because of the loose bits that tangled with one another, he carefully pieced it together until he was able to tell the book was a journal. Turning from the table, Carl settled absentmindedly onto a stool, forgetting all about Paul as he began to read the written words within.

The boy didn't interrupt, instead he eased about the table to press up as close as he dared to Carl, his eyes on the Friar's features, drinking in the softness that now touched them. When several minutes went by, he spoke, his voice was full of wonder.

"Carl...you really like the Hunter, don't you?"

The Friar pulled himself with difficulty from his reading, frowning slightly as he looked up at Paul. "Like him? Of course I do. I love him." Smiling absently, he patted Paul's shoulder. "Paul, I need to read this. Can you find something else to do for a while? Thank you." Eagerly, he dived back into the book, no longer aware of anything else.

Paul stood as if cast in stone, his pale skin a good deal paler as he watched Carl's face. Then, blinking rapidly, he turned away and ran from the lab.

Once alone, Carl lowered the book in his hands to his lap, his eyes were thoughtful as he looked after Paul. Of course he knew the man had a crush on him, but it bothered him to see all his efforts at distancing himself weren't working as well as he'd hoped. He hadn't meant to say that he was in love with Gabriel, but he wasn't sorry he had.

Thoughtfully, Carl reached out to snag the glass case, dragging it bumping and sliding over the table top toward him until he could, with a sigh, look at it. He'd just changed his perspective on the things on the table top, and he found he didn't like the view. Not at all.

* * *

Van Helsing stirred, stretching in the small bed with a sense of well being–he felt rested for the first time since he'd left the Vatican. A smile played about his lips. He'd dreamed again, but this time his dreams had been filled, not with darkness and unease, but with images of Carl. Carl, lying in bed, nude under the moonlight, a smile on his lips. The image took his breath away. In his dream he had kissed his Friar, tasting Carl's clean soft skin upon his lips with a smothered moan. Even now, he thought he could still smell Carl on his skin, taste him, feel his sweet presence. 

Hugging himself, Van Helsing sighed and slowly pulled away from the wonderful feeling, relegating it to the secret spot in his heart he held for Carl alone. He needed to face the world as it was, in the light of day, and save his dreams for a later time.

Stiffly, he eased himself up into a sitting position, lowering the comforter to stroke his hands over his skin. All of the abrasions and cuts were closed, the chill that had seemed to always be on his skin lately was gone, supplanted by a pleasant warmth. Bruises were still in abundance, but they weren't the deep angry purple he'd been expecting. Instead, they appeared as if they were days old instead of hours. He found himself remembering Gretchen's spoken plans to look over his wounds and wondered what the girl would make of his progress.

It was quite early, barely dawn. He didn't hear sounds of movement from the rest of the house or out in the yard, though it was usually the practice of farmers to rise with the sun. He shrugged, assuming that the attack last night had kept the family up much later than usual and they were resting in. Or if they were awake, he would simply wait until someone looked in on him.

Running a hand through his long hair, Van Helsing winced as he felt a good-sized knob buried in the strands. That explained his losing consciousness. He was profoundly grateful that the villagers were the exception to the rule of animosity he'd experienced on other missions. He'd pushed himself too hard and he'd been careless. He would be more careful in the future.

Easing his shoulders back until the bones creaked and the muscles across his chest strained in high relief, he slowly tilted his head from side to side, enjoying the feeling of the sun and a light breeze on his bare skin. He wished he could get up, but with no clothes and the possibility of Gretchen making an unannounced entrance he thought better of it. Instead, he settled back into the bed against the headboard, tucking his long fingers under the pillow to pull out the journal he'd started the previous night.

The handwriting was a bit cramped and difficult to read in some spots. Judging from what he was reading, he imagined the writer had been recording his thoughts while under extreme stress.

Josef Schwiigel's life had been very hard during the time recorded in the journal. He was a farmer who had fallen in love and planned to marry–however, he'd been forbidden to marry the girl he loved by her father because the Schwiigel family name carried the stigma of witchcraft. A member of his family, Anna Maria Schwiigel, had been tortured and burned as a witch in 1775 in Kempten. Josef claimed in his writings that Anna Maria had not been a witch, merely a believer in a different religion. But she had been proven otherwise by the tests indicated in the, then, rosetta stone of witchcraft identification, the 'Malleus Maleficarum' or Witch Hammer. This treatise had seized the German people and guided them in a disastrous extermination of thousands of innocent people, mostly women. The book had never been officially sanctioned by the Vatican or the Inquisition, but that had not stopped the widespread acceptance and use of it to condemn innocents to their deaths.

Josef, unable to convince the father of his beloved of his relative's innocence, had finally left Kempten and to settle in Dietz. He married another woman and through her had started to sire his family.

Van Helsing closed the journal, replacing it carefully in the spot he had pulled it from previously. Leaning back against the bed's headboard, he considered what he had read. He felt sorry for the man who had lost his first love to intolerance. He also wondered what 'alternative' religion Anna Maria had practiced–had it been a form of druidism? Something that could be mistaken for witchcraft? He wished Anna Maria well in Heaven. He also wondered if the family would be able to help him in his search for Mavis Carter–he found himself suspecting they would know her whereabouts handily.

Since his brush with Dracula, Van Helsing's drive to find the coven had decreased and he found that worrisome. Now, in the light of day, he wondered at finding the Count, supposedly dead and decayed, now returned and out of the Carpathians. What were the chances of the vampire lord being drawn to that particular forest at the time Van Helsing was passing through? He hadn't been searching for Dracula, hadn't even suspected he was back. Why would the vampire expose himself to the hunter? And why had he insisted on taking Van Helsing back to his castle when he could easily have destroyed the hunter and put an end to the only serious threat he faced? _Where_ was Dracula's castle? They were in Bavaria, far from Dracula's native land...it didn't make sense.

His mind ran in circles, defying any attempt at rationalization. He found himself growing more suspicious, feeling as though a fog had been lifted from his mind for the first time. He'd been reacting instead of taking the offensive. Now, he wondered who was responsible for the situations he'd found himself constantly beleaguered with since he'd left Rome. Someone was trying to keep him off balance and he had good reason now to consider the witch Mavis Carter as that 'someone'.

A knock on the door roused him from his reverie; at his assent, the door opened to reveal a tall, deeply tanned man in his 30s. He wore the leather and rough cotton work clothes common to the farmers in the area, his body appeared to be thin but muscular. His head was crowned with a thick thatch of almost white-blond hair, his face was lined from too much sun and became even more lined as he smiled at the hunter.

"Gutten Tag! Good Morning! Did you sleep well?"

Van Helsing's lips turned up markedly as he took in the other man's beaming smile. It felt good to be greeted with a smile by a stranger. It didn't happen often.

"Yes, very well, thank you. Good morning to you. And thank you for taking me in last night. I don't think much of the inn survived, did it?"

"Hah ha ha! No, not much!" the man chortled, shaking his head. The hunter had to quell one eyebrow from rising with the fellow's unexpected good humor. After all, the village had been attacked and people as well as property had been hurt. He assumed the man was the 'Josef' identified in the journal and wondered what his relationship with the village consisted of. Were they friendly? Or had Van Helsing been handed over to these people as a penance for being a stranger? Hmph, well if this was penance, he could easily learn to like it.

Josef moved within the doorway, easing the door open to display an armful of clothing that Van Helsing recognized as his own. He was delighted to see his leather coat had been retrieved and apparently cleaned. He wondered what had happened to his weapons, raising his eyes to Josef's blue gaze with an unspoken question.

"Ja, we found the coat and the weapons. You travel well armed! Have no fear, we saved all that could be found. The weapons have been put away safe for you. It's not good to have them lying about where children could get into them, you know."

"Yes, you're right," Van Helsing smiled, turning in the bed to take the proffered bundle. "I'll get dressed now and meet you outside?"

"All right. Oh, Gretchen wanted to look at your wounds–but I don't think you need that, do you?" Josef motioned with one work-swollen finger at Van Helsing's exposed torso where the bruises were already faded.

Van Helsing looked intently at the man's smile and his knowing eyes, and shook his head. "No, I don't need any attention. Thank you, though."

"Good, good. Come out when you're dressed. We saved breakfast for you."

The door shut firmly after Josef; Van Helsing could hear his shouts to his family and the answering cacophony of life from all around. Apparently, the family had been 'quiet' to allow the visitor to sleep. Now, released from such unnatural strictures, it was bursting at the seams with noise.

Pushing the blankets away, he hastily pulled on his trousers, buttoning them up. He'd barely finished when a commotion at the window produced two tow-heads grinning up at him. Two boys, with blazing blue eyes, probably barely 10, hanging from the high window by their elbows as they grinned with gap teeth up at the man.

"Gutten Tag," they chorused and giggled at his answering smile. More scuffling sounded from below as their feet sought a purchase on the exterior wall of the house, and abruptly the two boys tipped into the room with pealing laughter.

Van Helsing didn't have much to do with children, people tended to grab their young ones and run for it when they saw him. Faced with the two delighted boys, he wasn't sure what to do. He needn't have worried, children tend to make their own entertainment.

When he settled down on the bed to pull on his boots, the boys climbed up onto the bed and bounced, using his bent shoulders to keep their balance. He wondered if the bed could take all the punishment it was currently receiving then figured the boys probably did this often. Besides, he didn't want to interrupt their enjoyment, he found he was enjoying it too.

Once his boots were on, he stood carefully, allowing the boys to regain their balance before moving to pull on his sweater. The vest was folded with his coat, he was warm enough and the day promised to become warmer still.

Sensing he was ready to go, the boys took one last bounce that sent them into the air, landing at his feet with proud grins before they yanked the door open and proceeded him out of the room.

The common room was large and cool, with bare wooden floors that bore the scuff marks of an active family. The walls were painted a rich yellow creme that made Van Helsing's stomach rumble loudly.

"Ha ha ha! You're hungry, I hear!" Josef appeared from another room, the kitchen, carrying a large platter of food that smelled delicious. He sat it on the huge table that dominated the main room, gesturing to a chair. "Here, this is for you. Eat your fill, then we can talk. Domi, Stephan, let him eat in peace."

The boys punched Van Helsing companionably in the hip with matching grins before racing each other for the door.

The feeling of unrealness settled again over the hunter as he sank into the indicated chair and began to eat. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been welcomed into someone's home, into their lives like this. He was barely welcomed as a paying customer at the seedy inns he had to frequent. He found he liked this new turn of events very well indeed.

The food tasted as delicious as it had smelled and he made short work of it. As he was finishing, he heard the other occupants of the house begin to file into the door, coming to settle around the great table.

There were many, many children of various ages. He noted with interest that most of them were dark haired with dark eyes.

When the adults appeared, he began to understand why. Josef was almost white-blond, but Gretchen and her sisters were dark haired. Josef had married a dark haired, dark eyed woman... Oh.

Van Helsing set down his utensils and settled back in the chair, his eyes raising to Josef's smiling, knowing gaze.

"Ja, we knew you were looking for Mavis. The whole village knew it. So when you were hurt, it seemed a good idea to bring you here."

"Mavis..." he paused, allowing his eyes to flick about to the various faces before returning to Josef's. "She's your wife?"

Josef chuckled, shaking his head. "No, no. My wife is Karol, she is Mavis' sister."

Van Helsing nodded, then smiled as two familiar tow-heads pushed out of the crowd to grin at him.

"You're looking for the coven, then?" Gretchen asked softly, and Van Helsing nodded.

"Well, you found it, though there's not much left of it now," Josef smiled and waved an arm. "Dietz, the village was the coven. Now it's a big pile of rubble."

"You know who I am?" Van Helsing asked, though he was certain they had recognized him from the start. Another shock, he wondered if the 'spy' at the Vatican had sent word ahead.

"Ja, we knew the moment you stepped into the village."

The hunter shook his head as confusion settled in for a long stay. "I don't understand. You know who I am and that I'm looking for Mavis, but you brought me here?"

Josef's smile gentled as he settled himself into a chair facing Van Helsing, drawing Gretchen down to sit on his knee. "You were hurt. You helped us. What else could we do? Gretchen, she's good with medicines, gets it from her mama's side of the family. We didn't know you would heal as you do. A gift from Heaven, you are a special man."

Van Helsing's lips slid up into a sideways quirk as he scratched his head, again feeling the bump beneath the brown strands. "I don't know about special. But I'm beginning to think I'm lucky."

"Ja, well, Mavis thought it best to bring you to us, before you got into much more trouble."

"Trouble?"

Gretchen smiled at him as she slid a card his way. The card with the bloody mark on it. "A hex card," she explained. "It brings ill-fortune and confusion to the carrier. Usually, it's supposed to be placed somewhere in the house of the victim, but you carried it with you."

"Ah, that would explain it," Van Helsing grimaced, not touching the card. "I was told it was the sign of Mavis'...of your coven."

"No," Gretchen shook her head. "We would never use such a mark and certainly we would not draw it in blood. You are lucky to be still alive with such powerful magic working against you."

"What does it do, exactly?" Van Helsing settled back, folding his arms about his ribs. He felt cold now, despite the hot food in his stomach, and he wished he'd put on his vest.

As if in answer, his vest thrust up over the edge of the chair. He took it, amazed to discover a little girl of less than three smiling up at him from beneath.

"Ja, that's Gertrude. She's good with thoughts," Josef smiled. "You must be cold, she would know."

Van Helsing looked about him at the gathering of people young and old with a feeling of amazement curling in his mind like a smug smiling cat settling down for a long nap. He had come looking for a coven, and apparently he had found it. What it meant to him, and how everything he and the Vatican were going through now related, he couldn't begin to imagine.

TBC


	5. Hide and Seek 5 The First Battle

Rating: PG13

Pairing: Carl/Gabriel

Series/Sequel: Sequel to Discovery and Disillusion

Summary: The light of the moon illuminates the first battle

Notes: _This is a reprint of chapter 5 in response to a WONDERFUL review by Verona Dracula. She was kind enough to let me know I need to spell the German affirmative "Ja" instead of "Ya". Thank Sweetie! _The two major battles that have to be told run so long that I need to put them in separate chapters. Once again, Carl and Gabriel will need to be separated, but not for long.

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the start of slash (in a loving relationship)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**_Feedback: _**For all of you who followed the past stories, I hope that you find this story equally as interesting if not more so! Your reviews and suggestions are, as always, deeply appreciated! Due to Fanfiction rules I am unable to thank you in depth but I would like to say thanks to reviewers **Fluffy Vampire, ****Jania, ****Pineapple Ice, ****Verona Dracula**

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* * *

Hide and Seek 5**

Most of the family moved away, tending to their everyday chores as Josef and Gretchen explained the coven to Van Helsing. The Carters were an English family that had come to Germany many generations past. When Josef met Karol, she had understood his family history and he had understood her and her family. It hadn't been a marriage made of love at first, but it had grown to include love as time passed.

Mavis had become the matriarch of the Carter clan once her mother had passed on. She had the ability to see into the future, she had foretold the strong abilities that Josef's and Karol's children would have, though she scoffed at calling them magic. 'Nature's abilities' she'd called them. You didn't have to have magic to be able to have the abilities. It had to be born into you. With each new child, the gifts became stronger.

The village had started out with just the Carter/Schwiigel family; it had grown over time as each new person arrived, without any understanding of what had drawn them to the small settlement. The family simply expanded to include the new member, allowing them to settle in, helping to build new houses as new families began to emerge. Eventually, the settlement had expanded to the size of a small village-some families settled within the confines of a town structure while others moved out to the land and cultivated it. Everyone shared, no one went without-Nature was thanked as the provider of their bounties, both large and small. Each child was consecrated to the Mother and to the good of the earth and the community.

Josef laughed as he described Mavis' disdain of the 'devil worshiping cults' that witches were presumed to form. "As if I'd have time or inclination for the likes of that," she'd sniffed and that had been the end of that.

Gretchen's soft voice chimed in, then, explaining it had been Mavis who foretold of Van Helsing's arrival. She'd named him as the 'Left Hand of God', describing him so minutely that he'd been recognized immediately upon his arrival.

"She said you would come to us hounded and bedeviled. She told us of the talisman," Gretchen indicated the card still lying on the table between them. "It draws them, holds them close to you, and it keeps you weak and confused."

Van Helsing's dark brows drew down in a frown and he eyed the card lying before him. He didn't touch it. He had no intention of allowing himself to come in contact with it again. He remembered receiving it at the Vatican, of being told it was the mark of the cult. He'd believed it because it had been Cardinal Jinette who had told him what was proving to be a devastating lie. Why had the prelate lied to him? Was he deluded as well? Or had it been a deliberate act to send him out with a talisman that would make him the prey of every evil thing that roamed the world?

Gretchen watched the hunter shiver and saw his hazel eyes grow dark and shuttered. Watching his eyes, she felt the hurt in him like a bright fire on a dark night.

"I am sorry," she murmured, holding his eyes. "I cannot tell you much more, but Mavis will come later–she will be able to answer your questions and, perhaps, give you peace."

Van Helsing nodded, there was nothing else he could do. He nodded at the card, "And this? What will you do with it?"

Josef shifted in his chair, urging Gretchen to stand and then standing himself. He gestured at the card with his chin as he tosseled Gretchen's braids. "We will leave it. The children know not to touch it. Mavis may handle it. She knows what to do. In the mean time, we will go on with our own work."

Van Helsing stood as well, wiping his palms down his thighs to rid them of the sheen of sweat that had gathered during their conversation. He wanted something to do, something to take his mind off of the questions that he couldn't answer. "I'll help with your work, if you'll let me."

Gretchen smiled and looked up at her father as Josef tilted his head to one side and eyed Van Helsing appraisingly. "You know how to milk a cow? Or plow a straight furrow?"

"No," the smile on Van Helsing's lips reached his eyes, lighting his face. "But I know how to learn."

The other man chuckled deep inside his chest and nodded. "Ja, that will do. All right, you can help Gretchen churn butter. You are a strong strapping man. Such a thing should be easy for you."

Van Helsing's mouth quirked, the hunter was patently dubious as to his value in such a task-  
Gretchen took his hand then and tugged him after her, smiling up at him as she began to explain the complexities of making really good butter.

Mavis arrived with Karol at sundown, walking over the furrowed earth dressed in deep rich blue. The wavering projector image of the woman had not done her justice. Both women had deep blue-black hair and piercing eyes so dark the pupil could not be told from the iris. Their complexions were faultless though deeply tanned by the sun and elements. Karol had the plumper figure, made matronly by repeated childbirths; she also had a readier smile that easily provoked a return smile from Van Helsing every time. Mavis was not so inclined to smile. Upon her shoulders rested the well-being of the community and she wore the responsibility with dignity and reserve. She met Van Helsing's eyes with such a searching look, he wondered if she read his mind and what she made of it.

Whatever she found in his eyes, she didn't share the news–instead, she nodded at the house across the fields and spoke in a deep husky voice, "All right then. Come to the house."

She didn't raise her voice, but from all compass points the large Schwiigel family began to appear, descending on the clapboard house to drape themselves over the porch, on window sills, and on every available stick of furniture. Younger ones sat on the laps of older, they all had the same look of quiet intensity. There was no play in this gathering, the unexpected quietude made Van Helsing's skin itch and tense.

Mavis entered the house followed by Josef, Karol, Gretchen and Van Helsing. They were the only ones to seat themselves at the table. The pasteboard bearing the blood red mark still lay untouched in its center–Van Helsing watched Mavis closely and noted a look of disgust cross her features as she looked at the card before seating herself.

Once they were settled, Mavis met his eyes again and it was to him that she directed the rest of her comments. "You were told what this card is, yes?"

He shrugged, not certain how to answer. "I know that it's evil. I know that it draws evil. And I know that the confusion and weariness I've felt were part of its enchantment. Other than that, I..."

He shrugged again, feeling a sense of shame course through him as he realized his gullibility. He'd never questioned any of it, never thought about the unnatural need for rest that never left nor the fact that everywhere he went he'd had to fight evil. He hadn't thought at all.

Mavis' thin stern mouth turned up in a small smile as she settled back in her chair, nodding. "There is no need to feel shame about your ignorance in this. We know about such marks because we were taught as our grandmothers were taught. You are a warrior of good, we can see this. But you have much to learn still."

"I'm willing to learn whatever you can teach me," he answered and felt better when her smile grew broader.

"All right. I'll keep it simple and short, then. This mark is the mark of evil, as you know. It is a beacon to evil. It makes evil strong and you weak. You know this. It also gives information to your enemies, telling them of your weakness, of your past shames and your past battles. In the forest, you fought a great evil..."

"Dracula," Van Helsing growled. "But I'm not sure now if it was Dracula...it doesn't make sense."

The witch nodded, her long fingers rose to smooth over the table's rough grain. "You are right. This thing you fought, it was not the vampire lord Dracula. Dracula is still bound in Hell and he will remain so for some time to come. If he is ever to be released, it is far beyond my ability to see it."

Van Helsing leaned forward in his chair, his eyes piercing the gathering gloom to reach her eyes. "What was it, then?"

"A wraith," she growled, distaste on her features and in her voice. "A phantasm created from your memories, your shame, and given the identity of Dracula with his memories, granted to it by the one who called it. It is in all essentials Dracula, but it has never lived on this earth as Dracula has. Rather, it is Dracula's proxy, sharing all of his wants and desires, all of his strengths and weaknesses. It covets life, sensation. And it hates you with all the hatred its master feels. If it had taken you, it would have delivered you to Hell. You are very lucky and very strong to have survived it."

"How do I kill it?"

Mavis chuckled, the sound of her laughter was strange in the midst of their gloomy discussion. "How do you kill something that is already dead? How do you stop a raging river?"

The hunter's dark brows descended over his eyes, his reply was a quiet murmur. "By damming it, stopping it at the source, at its weakest point. Who called the wraith? I'll start with him."

Gretchen stirred in her chair, her blue eyes on Van Helsing were sad as she reached out and took his hand. He pulled back, slightly, not accustomed to being touched–she held on though and he settled his hand on the table once again.

"She's worried for you," Mavis nodded. "You are a great warrior who has battled evil for a long time. Longer than any man has a right to live. But the one who controls this beast and the beasts that assault the great church of Rome, he is as much beyond you as you are to Gretchen. I am not sure you'll survive this fight."

Van Helsing's calloused thumb softly stroked the back of Gretchen's hand as he met her gaze with a smile before turning back to Mavis. "Do I have a choice about this battle?"

Mavis sighed, then regretfully shook her head. "I don't believe so. Of course, I'm not all-knowing–it's possible. But...I don't believe you will be allowed to avoid it, no."

"Then tell me who to look for, and I'll take it from there," he urged.

"Just like that, hmm? All right, I suppose you know what you are doing better than we do. You should realize that once you learn his identity, he will know it and he will not spare any effort to kill you. He will use your weakness against you–the taint you bear in your body."

The hunter dropped his eyes, turning his head away from the woman as he fought a rush of heat that colored his face.

"You are ashamed of it? The marks of the wolf and the bat that you carry?"

"I would rather not have it," he answered, then truthfully added, "but I have made use of it."

"You will need to be careful in your use of the gifts this taint brings you. They are seductive, powerful gifts that are easy to become dependent upon. And once you grow dependent, they will gradually turn you from a man into an animal. When you use them, you become the beast that spawned them. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he growled, then cleared his throat. "I understand. Who is the man I seek?"

Mavis shook her head as she exchanged glances with Karol who sat at her right. "Stubborn," she spat, and tossed her head at Karol's answering giggle.

"You said as much before he came. Why does it surprise you now?"

"I _said_ he was strong minded. I don't recall saying pig headed."

Josef leaned over to jostle the witch, rumbling in her ear, "Ja, that's what all you women say about men you can't lead around by the apron strings. Give him the name and have done."

Mavis' withering glare should have put Josef in his place-it would have any other man. But the farmer just grinned at her with such genuine affection that she soon gave up trying to discomfit him.

"Fine. Sit back, don't touch the card, and keep your mouths quiet."

They did as she asked, Van Helsing released Gretchen's hand and placed his hands in his lap, lacing the fingers. It felt odd to sit here, with people that called themselves witches and had powers he didn't understand. But he felt no evil from them and he believed Mavis could provide the answers he needed.

The coven leader sat forward, her eyes fixed on the card. She made no attempt to touch it nor to touch any of the other people seated around the table. As she looked at the pasteboard, her gaze grew distant and her deep tan began to pale and grow yellow. From across the table, Van Helsing heard her breathing deepen and grow hoarse and his skin prickled with the feeling of an approaching storm.

The only sound in the room was Mavis' breathing. Then

...**Silence**...

The sound of great wings stroking the air.

"Damn!" Van Helsing thrust up from his chair. "Monsters. Josef, where are my weapons?"

The other man pushed away from the table with a glance at the unresponsive witch, then to his wife. "Karol, you watch after Mavis. Gretchen, get the children in, now!"

He didn't wait to hear their replies, instead he took a candle from the side board and lit it before leading Van Helsing to another room. Bending down, he seized and threw aside a heavy floor rug, revealing a trap door that covered a large excavated hole in the foundations. Within, Van Helsing's weapons gleamed in the small light of the candle with a magic of their own.

Van Helsing dropped to his knees, leaning down into the hole to scoop them up, thrusting them out to the man who stood to one side. He didn't try to retrieve them all, only those he was sure Josef could handle. For himself, he collected the tojos, which he hooked to his belt, and the cross bow. Rising to his feet, he kicked the panel shut and led Josef out of the room at a run.

As they came abreast of the table, though, he paused, torn by the call of the battle outside and the sight of Mavis still sitting unresponsive and helpless with Karol beside her.

"Josef?" he turned to the man to suggest he stay with the women, but Karol forestalled him, her manner no longer amusing and easy. She looked very much like her sister now, her dark eyes were snapping and angry.

"We are fine. Go on! I will look after Mavis. Send the children to me."

"Ja, leave them," Josef grasped Van Helsing's elbow, tugging at it. "She can take care of herself. We're the ones who need all the help we can get."

It went against his nature to leave the women to fend for themselves, but looking at the stern faces before him recalled an image of Anna to his mind–the gypsy princess had been more than capable of taking care of herself and strongly resented his need to protect her. These women reminded him of the last Valerious, and with that memory in mind, he turned away and left them to their own devices.

The moon was out, full and bright, and Van Helsing groaned as he felt his body come alive in its light. His senses sharpened to almost painful acuity as the night air flowed over his body and its scents made love to his mind. He had never felt the call of the night so strongly–the lure of the darkness enveloped his instincts and thoughts until he shuddered with a craving that wailed for satiation.

He was aware of Josef standing to one side, judging him, a worried frown on his face. "You can control it?" he asked softly.

Van Helsing didn't speak, he couldn't. Instead, he nodded, and took a firmer grip on this crossbow. He saw Josef nod in return and followed the farmer out into the front fields to scan the sky.

The children were streaming into the house. Their parents either joined them or came to join Josef and Van Helsing. They too looked curiously at the hunter, judging him, but they didn't shun him for which he was grateful.

Looking out over the fields, Van Helsing saw the ground move and shudder. "Over there. They're on the ground," he growled and pointed.

The coven spread out then, facing the incoming horde of monsters, each person grim faced and silent. There were men as well as women, many carried weapons, many did not. Josef explained before Van Helsing could question this.

"They have gifts that will do the job. They do not need weapons like you or I."

The hunter could only nod, trusting the farmer and his people to know what they were capable of.

He was scanning the skies again; he had heard wings-there were other menaces, ones they hadn't seen yet but that would come at them unawares if they weren't careful.

Lifting his face to the night sky, he scented the wind. He could smell it now...a familiar scent.

Dracula.

Turning away from the line of people, he retraced his steps toward the house, breaking into a run.

He heard the moment the coven met the oncoming monsters, heard the screams and roars and sounds of death, but he didn't stop.

Ahead of him, the house loomed dark and silent. Then in the doorway, he saw the shadows pull together like disjointed fingers of ink flowing together into a single pool of denseness that rose up on two legs and moved forward.

From out of the house, a figure appeared holding two bodies in its large white hands. With the supernatural acuity of his eyesight, Van Helsing had no difficulty in seeing that the two bodies were Mavis and Karol. As he drew near, Dracula held them out to the hunter as though offering him a present.

"Gabriel, I have something for you. You see, I didn't come empty handed."

He felt the gorge rise in his throat looking at the two lifeless bodies and remembering the fire that had been in their eyes. Like Anna, he hadn't protected them, and they had paid for his negligence with their lives. Reminding himself that the creature before him was not actually Dracula did not help–it looked, sounded, moved like the vampire lord. His nostrils picked up the muzzy velvet scent of the grave that had covered Dracula like a second skin. Proxy or not, everything about the creature before him insisted this _was _Dracula. The vampire lord might still be in hell, but it didn't make a difference to Van Helsing. Dracula's will would still be executed by this shadow of his evil.

A movement behind Dracula caught Van Helsing's eye, and he started forward just as Gretchen flew at the vampire, a wooden stake in her hand that the hunter recognized as the broken spindle of a chair. She struck at the beast with all her strength, burying the makeshift stake inside its back.

The vampire snarled and threw the two women at the hunter, their bodies impacting with his and knocking him to the ground. He pushed away, raising his crossbow as Dracula whirled on the blonde girl and seized her by the throat–a touch to the bow's trigger sent a stream of arrows, saturated with holy water, toward the vampire lord's body.

With the impact of the first arrow, the vampire whirled, snarling, his free hand swiping at the incoming missiles, crushing them easily as he held the struggling girl with the other hand. When Van Helsing ceased the futile barrage, the vampire turned to him, his eyes fastened on the hunter as he moved Gretchen's body to the front. The muzzle wrinkled, displaying fangs that lengthened as the hunter watched the vampire stride over the soft black earth toward him,

Van Helsing shoved at the dead weight pinning him to the ground, noting in doing so that Karol was still breathing, her breath appearing as small white clouds of warmth in the chill air. Quickly, he rolled her over, so that her face was hidden against Mavis' back while he prayed her faint heartbeat wouldn't be detected by the vampire.

He was rising to his feet when the beast's hand caught him by the throat, yanking him upright and off his feet to dangle, choking.

By instinct he'd held onto the crossbow, it now found its way up against the vampire's chest and his finger tightened on the trigger vengefully, pumping a stream of quarrels into the undead body.

Roaring like a wounded animal, Dracula threw Gretchen away, then seized the crossbow, jerking it out of the man's hands. Lifting the weapon to shoulder height so that Van Helsing could see it, the long white fingers crushed the cannister of arrows before letting the useless weapon drop.

All around him, Van Helsing heard the sounds of battle, the scent of fresh blood was in his nostrils along with the pervasive smell of dead and charring flesh. His skin prickled with the chill of death while his mouth watered for it.

The vampire's dark eyes fastened on Van Helsing's as his muzzle wrinkled and lifted to reveal fully-descended white fangs. "You have been a great deal of trouble, Gabriel," Dracula growled, bringing the hunter closer so that their faces were separated by only inches.

"Glad...to..hear it," Van Helsing wheezed, his own hands about Dracula's wrist. He was aware of the weight of the tojos at his waist–he didn't have any faith that he could draw them before the vampire stopped him, but, if he could get Dracula to drop him, he planned to make full use of them.

The vampire chuckled, bringing the man closer as his nostrils flared and a deep approving growl rumbled in the still, cold chest. "Mmm, I _smell _the darkness in you, Gabriel. You've tasted its seduction, haven't you?"

Van Helsing snarled at the beast, his body writhing in his grasp as he turned his face away.

The white muzzle opened to allow the beast's long black tongue to extend and delicately lick Van Helsing's cheek, Dracula purred with pleasure when the man shuddered in revulsion.

"I love the taste of your flesh, Gabriel. I miss it. Do you not miss me as well?"

"If you're going to kill me...do it!" Van Helsing growled, his eyes sliding back to the vampire's. "Just don't talk...me..to death!"

Dracula's mouth drew up in a smug parody of a smile, as he leaned in, pressing his mouth and nose to Van Helsing's cheek, the cold flesh of the beast rubbed strongly against the hot sweat-slicked flesh of the hunter. "Are you begging me to kill you, Gabriel?"

"I'm begging...you to...shut the hell up!" Van Helsing snarled, his foot striking out to bury itself between the beast's legs. The beast shrieked, dropping the hunter. Van Helsing hit the ground already rolling, pulling the tojos from his belt as he came up onto his feet. Gretchen lay on the ground behind him now; he raised the whirring weapons and faced the vampire.

"Leave, Dracula," he growled. "I may not be able to kill you, but I know that you can feel pain."

The vampire drew back, circling, the obsidian eyes never leaving the hunter, the nostrils dilating, scenting the man before him as the long black tongue licked the white muzzle.

"Gabriel...you carry my blood in your body. You belong to the night, now-I can smell it, strong upon your flesh. Can't you feel the call of it? Don't you enjoy the seduction of it?"

The man snarled at the beast, turning to face him as the monster circled.

"Leave them, Gabriel. Come with me and I won't harm them–stay, force me to fight for you, and I will kill them all."

Van Helsing shook his head, swallowing the pull he felt as he watched the beast cajole and coo at him. "You'll kill them if you get the chance, Dracula, whether I go or not."

"No, Gabriel, I won't. I swear it. Come with me, come into my arms, accept me and the dark, and I will spare them, all of them."

"You're a liar, Dracula."

Rather than anger, the beast paused, straightening as a chuckle rumbled in his chest. "I miss your anger...your hatred, Gabriel. I will treasure it when it is mine again!"

Van Helsing's brows dropped down as he whirled but arms were already clasping around his, crossing over his chest, constricting his movement. Behind him, Gretchen held on with all her strength, her blue eyes dark and haunted.

"Gretchen, no! Let go!"

The form of the beast flowed over the ground toward them, closing on the struggling pair with irresistible speed–cold white hands seized Van Helsing's wrists, closing, compressing the bones until with a cry he released the spinning blades. Snarling, the beast spun and yanked the man back against him, one long arm closing about his ribs as the other hand struck the girl away so that she fell to the ground and lay still.

With a deafening clap of sound, the great white wings spread and stroked downward, cupping the air, lifting the beast and hunter into the sky higher and higher until the fields were a small heaving mass of motion beneath them.

Dracula easily held the writhing man, purring as one massive hand forced Van Helsing's head up, turning his face to the vampire's, forcing the hunter's jaw open so that the long black tongue could freely slide into the warm mouth. The beast shuddered against his captive's back as his tongue rubbed over Van Helsing's, sliding deep into his throat, filling his mouth with the taste of the vampire's erotic pleasure.

Van Helsing groaned as every cell in his body rejected the invasion. His mind was consumed with hatred, his body was on fire with it and he welcomed the pain of the fire as it set him free.

In mid-air, his body shuddered and morphed, the fragile skin of the man splitting open to release the raging werewolf who contorted and fastened its jaws on the throat of the beast and closed them, rending it with the fury of a centuries-old hatred.

The vampire and wolf fell from the dark sky, screaming and clawing at one another, the vampire's fangs fastened into the wolf's neck while the werewolf's claws ripped into the bat's body and its fangs caught and crushed the spinal cord.

They fell, locked together for a hundred feet, striking the soft tilled earth hard enough to half bury the bodies. Neither moved, their dark blood seeped out over the field, staining the earth in a pool that reflected the bright seductive light of the moon.

TBC


	6. Hide and Seek 6 The Second Battle

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to Discovery and Disillusion  
Summary: The light of the forge ends the second battle 1.  
Notes: The two major battles that have to be told run so long that I need to put them in separate chapters. Once again, Carl and Gabriel will need to be separated, but not for long.  
Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the start of slash (in a loving relationship)  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**_Feedback: _**For all of you who followed the past stories, I hope that you find this story equally as interesting if not more so! Your reviews and suggestions are, as always, deeply appreciated! Due to Fanfiction rules I am unable to thank you in depth but I would like to say thanks to reviewers **Laura, ****Toto3 ****_(Toto from Kansas, _Lilya****Pineapple Ice****Fluffy Vampire****Verona Dracula****Jania**_**  
**_

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**Incubus: A male demonic creature who feeds upon the life essence of living beings. _Marveldirectory(dot)com/glossary_  
  
Incubus–"One of the most famous forms of vampires, the male form of the Succubus, the Incubus visits women at night. Makes love to them and torments their dreams. It possesses all the characteristics of the vampire with nightly visits to its victims. Draining life from them, and showing strength and extreme sexual desire. Like vampires found among the Gypsy and Slavic communities, it can father children."  
_Vampiricreality(dot)com_ **

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**Hide and Seek 6  
**  
"No! Oh God, please no!" Carl bolted upright in his bed with a cry that racked his body. He had never felt such pain and loss in his life as he did now. The dream had been so vivid–he'd seen Gabriel die. Falling from the sky to strike the earth so hard that it had opened and claimed his body. 

Shuddering, Carl fought his way clear of the sweat soaked bed clothes to stagger to the wash stand where he seized the pitcher and upended it over his head, letting the water drench his body and flow over the floor.

The water sluicing over his body was ice cold and abruptly Carl was shivering hard, the empty pitcher fell from his hand to land on the floor, rolling drunkenly in the pool of water. His arms wrapped around himself as he moved toward the window, pressing himself to the opening to stare up into the sky. A breeze played over his wet body and ruffled his soaking hair as he waited, waited for a sign, any little sign that Gabriel was truly dead-a shooting star, a night-time rainbow, an Apocalypse. Any tiny sign that would prove it to him. If Gabriel had really died, then God would open the Gates and take Gabriel back, and there would be a sign. Gabriel would send him a sign.

Surely that had to happen.

But there was nothing. The sky remained dark, the moon shone dimly through its cloudy coverlet, and no midnight rainbow made a path to Heaven's gate. The cool breeze playing about him wafted the scents of the night over his face, bringing nothing more than the promise of an early winter with it.

"It was just a dream," Carl growled, turning away from the window, rubbing his hands furiously over his ribs. "A horrible, awful, nightmarish dream."

Forcing himself to move away from the window, he shuffled through the standing water to the dark oak clothes press, pulling the creaking door open. Thankfully, he had clean clothing; the poor white nightgown that he'd worn to bed that night was clinging like a limpet now, almost completely translucent and disgusting in its clammy embrace while the water that dripped off it making irregular splashes in the puddles at his feet. Wrenching the clinging wet cloth over his head, he dropped it with a splat onto the floor, then dived into the press to pull down the first brown robe that came to his hand. It was difficult to pull the coarse awkward garment over his wet skin, but once it was on he gratefully rubbed it over his body, gathering warmth and security from the familiar action.

When he had awoken, the dream had been terrifying and truly horrific, its compelling images had been completely real to him. Now, with the passage of a few moments, the thin reality of the illusion was passing and he was realizing that it had made him genuinely _angry_.

If Gabriel had gotten himself killed on this mission...well the Heavenly Gates wouldn't save him from Carl's wrath! To hell with a midnight rainbow, he'd build a machine that would fly him to the Heavenly Gates and he'd personally ask St. Peter to send Gabriel back out for his dressing down. If Gabriel was an earth-bound angel, he could bloody well fall to earth again because Carl wasn't going to live his life alone, and if Gabriel _wasn't_ an angel–well that was another thing that he'd have to make up to Carl.

By this time, Carl had worked himself into a fine state of pissyness that would have made even Van Helsing take a step back. With righteous anger, Carl smote the creaking clothes press with a mighty blow, and then had to jump back out of the rebounding door's path. Spurred on by his anger, he seized the offending door, wrenching and dragging on it until it gave way with a squeal and fell with a loud splash onto the floor. The surrogate victim of his anger was down, but not vanquished–with another burst of savage strength, he dragged the door over to the window and shoved it through the small aperture. It seemed to float in the air for an instant, buoyed up on a medium that it had never been designed by nature or man to know, then took a nose dive that led to the hard stones below, shattering into several jagged bits.

"Hah! That's what I think of your evil portents!" Carl shouted and waved his fist at the cowering moon behind its bunker of clouds.

Running footsteps on the stones below the window caught his attention, bringing his eyes down to meet the gaze of the patrolling Vatican guard. They'd evidently heard the crash and shouts and had come to investigate. Looking down into their askance gaze, he drew himself up to his full height.

"What, you've never seen a man piss at the moon before?"

"Er...no sir. Everything all right then?"

"Fine, fine. Um...you might want to clear that kindling away."

"Yes sir."

Nodding, Carl straightened his shoulders and turned majestically away–then quickly slipped to the side of the window frame and out of sight. He could hear the guard talking indistinctly amongst themselves as they cleared the clutter away–he had no difficulty in imagining what they were talking about. No doubt the word 'crazy' figured largely in the mix. And now that his anger had dissipated with that final act of senseless violence, he had to agree with them–he'd felt like a raging wolf before, now his feelings tended more toward a damp sheep. Baad friar.

Grimly, he lifted the hem of his robe and waded back over to the sadly demoralized clothes press to fish out a pair of shoes. It was abominably early in the morning, but he had no desire to go back to sleep–certainly he didn't want to face the possibility of a replay of his previous dream. His only other real option was the lab.

Leaving the standing puddles behind with the childlike assurance that time and a decently sunny day would dry them out, Carl left his chambers, pausing once in the corridor to slip on this shoes. His hair was patted down with a nod to his normal grooming habit; the fine strands were already damp dry and the ubiquitous curl was reappearing at the ends. He looked his normal self and drew comfort from that uniformity as he plodded with slapping footsteps through the quiet hallway, past the doors of other more fortunate sleepers.

As he walked through the blue-tinged shadows that framed the corridor, his mind returned to the items on the evidence table in his lab. He was regretting his snap suspicions of earlier–the hair that the forensics team had found was in no way conclusive of anything. It could easily have been dropped at any time by any one. In the cold light of reason, he certainly had no real reason to suspect Paul, and, if he were being truthful, he felt more than a little guilty for even considering Paul as suspect.

Why had the Cardinal assigned this task to Carl? He wasn't a forensics expert, he'd never sleuthed anything other than the odd batch of chemicals gone missing. Why, anyone could tell just by looking at him who and what he was–a few days hadn't changed that.

Carl's aimless footsteps slowed and stopped as he reconsidered what he'd just admitted to himself. _Could_ anyone tell anything about someone just by looking at them? What had Benerd said about the incubus? Diligent thought produced very little information–he had to admit that he had paid little or no attention to what Benerd had tried to tell him. Instead, he had spent the time mooning over Gabriel, fighting harpies, and suspecting innocent friars. Benerd's admitted expertise lay in supernatural creatures–it made sense to find and plunder his brain rigorously and Carl was only ashamed that he hadn't realized that sooner. Not for the first or last time, Carl roundly cursed Jinette for putting him in charge of the investigation-when he had exhausted his woefully small store of curses, Carl grimly turned his footsteps toward Benerd's lab.

He had never liked the monk's lab. The narrow corridor leading to it was quite dark, there were no windows to shed even the moon's glow on the damp stones; the lab itself had the unprepossessing location of a dungeon coupled with the dank and dismal aspect of a torture chamber. Carl had often wondered how Benerd could stand to work in such an environment much less live in it, as he apparently did. He enjoyed the man's company, finding him jovial and innately kind, but his passion for the dark nature of the supernatural was something Carl couldn't comprehend and didn't want to even attempt to empathize with.

Dodging unknown and noxious-smelling puddles, Carl emerged from the cramped corridor into the more spacious and equally gloomy lab. He expected to hear the robust noise of Benerd's snores, but the chamber was quiet and apparently empty.

Nothing had changed since Carl had last been in the room–the disturbing trays of gleaming surgical instruments, wooden-planed tables with troughs attached to them on either side, chairs with restraints...it all seemed more like a walk through the Inquisition's offices than the lab of someone as harmless as Benerd.

Carl's footsteps in the dank quietude seemed hideously loud, he had to quell the urge to tiptoe as he approached the large table that overflowed with parchments, quills, and inks that had either dried up or were in the _process_ of drying up simply because Benerd never replaced to the caps on the inkwells.

The parchments were covered in Benerd's looping, thin scrawl and disfiguring inkblots. Carl noted that they seemed to be in no particular order, apparently as fast as Benerd made his notes he discarded them, moving onto a new sheet as fresh inspirations sleeted down into his already feverishly working brain. Selecting a sheet at random, Carl shuddered as he realized it was a drawing of a chair, much like the chair in Benerd's lab, with the depiction of a werewolf strapped into it. Even though the drawing was a crude representation at best, Carl was sickened by the agony depicted on the creature's face. The notations at the bottom of the illustration described in grisly detail the act of 'morphing' from man to wolf, going on with a note to the writer to 'time the period of change at next opportunity.

Disgusted, Carl let the sheet drop back onto the table. He understood Benerd's passion to know, but he couldn't help but sympathize with the victim of lycanthropy that came into the monk's thoughtful hands.

More rooting about disclosed a sheet that Carl recognized as Benerd's notes on the incubus that he'd attempted to show Carl on the first day of the investigation. Ruefully, Carl carried the sheet over to one of the smokey torches that dotted the walls, holding it up to the light so that he could read the spidery script.

_'...Incubus demon–spirit. Not of the flesh. If not of the flesh, then how do they attack? Must acquire fleshly form somehow either through reanimating the dead or stealing human flesh to create a body. How lifelike would such a thing be? How often can they change forms? If reanimate the dead, where would they get corpse... Vampire'  
_  
Swallowing heavily, Carl returned with the parchment to the table, replacing it as he'd found it. He found himself remembering the Frankenstein monster who had at first seemed such a frightful travesty and then proved himself to be in many ways a better man than the villagers who had sought to kill him. Carl suspected that the incubus described in Benerd's notes would not be so gentle. The last notation, the single word reference to vampires, made Carl even more uncomfortable. It wasn't much of a leap to see that Benerd was alluding to Dracula's single-minded pursuit of the monster for the purposes of infesting the world with his progeny. Was Benerd likening the incubus to a vampire?

Or suggesting that an incubus could be considered a monster like Frankenstein's? Dracula was dead, what would be the purpose of such a question?

Deep in thought, Carl turned his back to the table to lean his hips against it, his eyes fixed on the hypnotically flickering torch. If the incubus needed to create or reanimate a human form, what would that form be like? Certainly, it would be cold–after all, it was dead. If the demon could only reanimate the dead, could it sustain the illusion of life for long? If not, it would have to change bodies often.

Carl swallowed a rush of bile as he realized where his thoughts were taking him. It made sense, there was really only one place that the incubus could acquire bodies on a regular basis–and it explained the attacks on the Vatican–what better way to ensure the demon had a steady supply of fresh bodies?

Pushing away from the table, Carl turned to go only to jump back as he found himself abruptly face-to-face with Benerd. The monk smiled at Carl, his round cheeks lifting into plump orbs that almost hid his eyes.

"Carl? What a surprise to find you here. Did you come looking for me?"

Fanning himself as he fought to recover his breath, Carl frowned at the monk. "Of course I did, why else would I be here!"

"True," Benerd admitted, his blue eyes thoughtful as they took in Carl's pale face and nervous manner. "Are you well? You don't look well."

"Yes I do."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"No, Carl, you don't. You look like death warmed over."

"Well you don't look any too well yourself."

"What's that got to do with it? We were talking about you."

"Yes, and you said I looked like 'death warmed over'! Is that anything to say to a man who's looking for an incubus!" Carl abruptly clapped his hand over his mouth, his blue eyes rounding in horror at the words that had popped out of his mouth.

Benerd's mouth abruptly twitched, then sagged open in a braying laugh that made Carl want to back as far away from the monk as possible. It was plain the fellow was stark staring mad, the only question that remained was if Carl could get by him and out of the chamber before he became violent.

Obviously, Benerd saw and appreciated Carl's alarm because he waved both hands before him in a placating gesture as he struggled to contain his mirth.

"C...c...c..."

"Carl," Carl supplied helpfully as he backed up another step.

"I...I..know...that..you're not...an...incubus!"

"You _know_? How do you know it? And how do you know that I know that you're not an incubus?"

Carl retorted hotly, then groaned as he realized he'd just accused the man who was standing between himself and the only door out of the chamber.

Benerd's flagging laughter renewed itself with loud gasping exuberance, the monk sounded as if he were in dire distress and without thinking, Carl went to him, patting him firmly on the back as if he were choking on a bit of gristle. Benerd bent double, hands on his knees as he worked to regain his sobriety and his breath. When he managed both, he moved shakily to a stool at the table, sinking down on it with relief.

"God, Carl! You're going to be the death of me!"

"That's not very funny, Benerd, considering!"

The monk sighed and nodded. "You're right. It's not. So, you came here looking for me. Did you think I was the incubus? If you did, I have to say that it wasn't very bright of you to put yourself in such a position with a murderer."

Carl shook his head as his arms crossed over his chest, rubbing his skin to warm the gooseflesh that had popped up. His voice, when he spoke, was soft, almost too soft for the monk to hear.

"Pink."

"Eh? 'Pink'? What does that mean?"

"Er...well, your tonsils...pink. And your skin is warm. Not exactly corpse-like."

"Tonsils?" the monk asked, eyebrows soaring as he contemplated Carl with the same dubiously assessing look that Carl had been favoring him with earlier. The friar recognized it easily and sighed as he moved to seat himself heavily on another stool.

"When you laugh, a few days ago and just now, you tend to open your mouth wide and...well...tonsils."

"Oh." Benerd's rosey skin abruptly turned a much darker shade of red and he scrubbed an abashed hand over it as he eyed the friar with something like dumbfoundment. "You're good to have noticed that, Carl."

"Hmph. Not good enough to have solved this problem yet, but I think I have an idea."

"An idea? What is it?" Benerd hitched his stool forward, his eyes intent on Carl's.

"Well, I'd like to hold off explaining it until I get a little more information from you, if that's all right?"

"Oh." Benerd blinked, then shrugged. "Well...as you know..."

"CAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRLLLLLLLLL!"

"Oh Good Lord!" Carl snapped, jumping to his feet as Paul staggered into the chamber. The young man was gasping in ragged exhalations which abruptly hitched as he got a good look at the unique furnishings that cluttered the room. Carl noted the young man's habitual pallor paled even more so when he got a good look at the chair. He couldn't blame him.

"What is it, Paul?" he called, waving at the dumbstruck friar in an effort to get him moving.

"Oh...Carl!" Paul started toward him, only to shy away as he bumped into a rattling tray of instruments. "God, what a horrible place!"

Benerd snorted, waving his hand. "Ah, thank you young fella! It's nice to meet an honest man!"

Paul blinked, and abruptly colored a deep arresting crimson as he shuffled over to meet the two men. "Er...I'm sorry...I didn't realize..."

"Yes, well you can sort all that out later," Carl interrupted as he took the young friar by the shoulders and turned him to meet Carl's eyes. "What's wrong? You came in yelling like a banshee!"

"Oh!" Paul's blush abruptly faded again. "Another attack! They're fighting in front of the Palace.  
Carl!"

Whatever else the young friar might have said was lost as Carl ran from the chamber—he needed his gun and he was beginning to wonder if he should just carry it strapped to his back like a hump. As he emerged from the narrow confines of the access tunnel, he was horrified to hear and see that the fighting had breeched the doors and the monsters were pressing into the great hall. The Vatican guard as well as members of the Order, some of whom he recognized as inventors from the labs, were fighting the beasts off, but obviously they were slowly being overwhelmed.

Picking up the skirts of his robe, Carl pushed himself as fast as his legs would carry him, into the confessional and down into the labs. Sliding up to his lab table, he snatched his gun and then began to grab whatever additional weapons he could easily lay his hands on. It seemed as if every beast under the sun as currently attacking the Palace, he had no idea what was needed or even if he'd be able to help in any significant way. Dropping to his knees, he rummaged about in some of the crates under the work table, cursing steadily under his breath.

His frantic search consumed his attention to the extent that he never noticed the air in the chamber growing colder, nor the shadows lengthening, running like black ink across the stone floor. The sound of the forges became muted and distant, as though submerged in deep water.

Carl's first intimation of the trouble he was in came when realized he was shivering violently.

"What the hell?" he mused, looking down at the chill bumps rising on his flesh. His words were expelled as a white mist that curled and froze before his startled eyes. Very quietly, he reached into the crate again, this time a lead flask of holy water fell to his hand readily.

A dread had settled on his nerves, summoning up a terror of the dark and unknown. He recognized it as the touch of evil, a feeling that he had become very well acquainted with while in Dracula's castle.

Slowly, he emerged from the small space under the table to stand, turning to face the source of the cold.

"Marcus?" Carl's eyebrows rose as he stepped back, his eyes on the man standing at the end of his lab table, smiling at him. Carl was well acquainted with the monk who served as Jinette's secretary and also as the fumble-fingered projectionist. "Why are you here, Marcus? What are you looking for?" He was relieved that his voice was steady as his brain searched for all the reasons why the monk might be in the labs alone and came up with none. He really didn't need to wonder, the sense of evil coming off the man had already persuaded him of Marcus' intent.

"Don't you know, Carl?" Marcus smiled, his dark eyes on Carl's held a satisfaction in them that made the friar gulp and back up another step.

"Oh...well...I can guess," he murmured, blinking when the monk mirrored his movement, advancing a step. Feeling as if he were in some sort of surrealistic dance with steps he had never mastered, Carl retreated again, his voice still unexpectedly steady. "You're the spy...the incubus, aren't you? You've been spying on the Cardinal, you knew every step he would make, the whole time."

Marcus' dark brows rose in a sardonic arch as his hands came together to clap in appreciation.

Carl noted that the fingers were oddly pointed and dead white.

"Oh, very very good, Carl! I underestimated you, little friar. I thought you were a little play pretty tagging along in Van Helsing's wake–instead, you turn out to be a problem that I have no time to deal with. But I _must_ deal with you, mustn't I?"

Carl swallowed hard, trying to choke down the lump of fear in his throat as he met the demon's gaze. He noted the incubus' gaze drop to fix on his mouth, then move slowly down his body, and felt a wave of heat flow over his skin. He was well aware of the reputation of these demons, it was one of the few things that he had bothered to learn about them, though his texts had always stated incubi targeted women... certainly not friars.

"You staged the attack?" he asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to delay the inevitable as long as possible. He was surprised, however, when the demon chuckled, his eyes crinkling with humor as he shook his head.

"No, Carl. You give me too much credit. I merely provide my master with the information required and he allows me to indulge my appetites unfettered."

"Your master!" Carl growled. "Who is your master?"

The incubus blinked and for the first time seemed discomfited. "I can't tell you that, little friar. He has put a geis on me that doesn't allow his name to pass my lips. Though, if it were my choice, I would tell you."

"You would?" Carl shook his head, a frown drawing his brows down over snapping blue eyes as he shoved a hand through his hair. "Why do you want to betray your master...is it because he controls you?"

"Excellent, Carl! Again, you surprise me! Of course, if my master's control is removed, I may slake my thirst without restriction. However, since he is extremely powerful, and well versed in the dark arts, I cannot go against his will. Mmmm..." Marcus licked his lips, one hand coming up to place a finger at his lips which he slowly licked. "I could give you a hint, though you'd have to make it worth my while. Would you be willing to do that, little friar?"

Disgust curled nauseatingly within Carl's stomach as he watched the incubus' pale tongue lick wetly over the white finger, remembering that the man he was currently talking with had ceased to be alive some time ago. "What do you want...for your information," he murmured, choking slightly on the words.

Marcus chuckled, the wet digit at his lips moving to waggle playfully at Carl. "Come now, friar.  
You know what I am, what do you think I want?"

"God," Carl growled, shaking his head as he moved back several steps. "Never, demon. That will never happen."

Pale moist lips pouted in a moue of disappointment, but Marcus' eyes on Carl's held a quiet delight in them that made the friar's skin crawl. "Carl...is it only Van Helsing that you'll allow to stroke your flesh? It was an effort to get rid of him, you know. I took a great risk being in the same room with him–fortunately he was too smitten with you to pay attention to me. It only took a little ruse to dull his sense of smell...he was ridiculously easy to fool."

"The picture!" Carl yelped, his mouth falling open as he stabbed the air with sudden comprehension. "You burned the picture on purpose, so he couldn't smell the scent of death on you! And you were with the forensics team!"

"Guilty," Marcus chuckled. "But you never asked why I destroyed Van Helsing's room... I'll tell you, though–it was because you chose him as your lover."

"What?" Carl stuttered, blinking rapidly. "How...why would that..."

"Guess," the incubus growled, his hand dropping to the lab table to stroke its surface. "Guess why I should care."

"I don't know," Carl answered truthfully, his mind whirling. He was aware that time was passing and that the battle upstairs had to be reaching a turning point, for better or worse. He wondered if the creature before him planned to keep him talking until it was too late to help. "I don't want to know."

"Yes, you do," the incubus purred, his eyes fixed on Carl's changed abruptly as a deep rich crimson flowed over them, making them appear to be bleeding. "I care because my master cares. I desire what my master desires. Remember that, little friar, for the few minutes you have left to live."

Carl flung his arms up as the incubus thrust up over the table, coming over its surface to clutch at his shoulders. They fell, struggling to the floor, Carl rolling to keep the demon from settling on top of him. He dimly remembered the caution that such demons smothered their victim if they could settle on the victim's chest.

The hard gritty stone floor rasped over Carl's skin, drawing blood on his arms and legs as the demon tried to pin him down. It was hissing now, the dead man's lips were drawn back to reveal jagged fangs and a pale fleshy tongue that it continuously waggled at him. He wanted to retch as the cold flesh of the demon clutched at his skin, he settled for striking it with his fist, as hard as he possibly could. When its head rocked back with the blow, Carl sat up and struck at it again, this time with his hand curled around the heavy bottle of holy water that he still held. The blow rocked the demon back, dislodging it so that Carl could thrust it to the side and roll onto his feet.

The instant he regained his footing, Carl ran, dodging through the hanging smoke of the idle forges and the obstacle course of the inventors' forsaken tools. He heard the snarl of the demon behind him and heard a curious skittering noise. In his mind's eye, he saw the thing leaping from table to grinding stone, to forge, balancing on impossibly small surfaces like an insect before leaping to the next surface in an attempt to cut him off from the stairway leading up to the great hall. He could have told his pursuer he had no intentions of trying to reach the hall nor of trying to escape.

The heavy smoke parted before him, revealing what he had been seeking–he dived for the forge,  
toward the sword hilt that had been thrust into the boiling hot holding vat hanging over the sullenly glowing coals. When he grasped the hilt, he screamed as the fiery metal seared into his flesh and branded it with the design on the pommel. The demon behind him was racing toward him, only feet away–Carl was still screaming as he drew the sword and whirled with it, swinging the glowing blade in a flat trajectory that caught the charging demon on the shoulder and continued slicing through until it lodged in the chest.

The inhuman shrieks of the demon made the metal of the sword ring as all over the lab glass and pottery burst, spraying the area with hurtling shards. Carl threw himself to the ground, clutching his hand to his chest as he watched the demon's body jerk within the rain of jagged missiles. The body of Marcus was staggering now, almost cut in half by the sword it was a wound that not even the demon could ignore. When the body fell, it came down almost on top of Carl, the pale hands clutched at his legs, dragging them out from under his chin and toward its chest although he kicked at viciously. When he reached down and seized one of the hands, dragging it off his leg, the other hand caught at his wrist, pulling Carl's injured hand to the pale lips for a kiss that burned like ice.

"I cannot die," the demon whispered as it rubbed its cheek against Carl's blood-stained palm. "You have accomplished nothing."

"I've freed Marcus from you," Carl growled as he yanked his hand free, and edged away. "He died defending us in the first battle–you took his body from the crypt. Now he's free."

"Cambion," the whispering voice sighed, then trailed away as the eyes fastened on Carl's dimmed.

He saw the red bleed away to reveal the brown, vaguely surprised eyes of the man Carl had once known staring up at him. Gently, Carl reached out and closed the eyes, sketching a cross over the pale flesh of the forehead.

The unnatural cold that had hung over the forge was gone but Carl watched the shadows that lay over the stone floor and across the walls, and shivered.

TBC


	7. Hide and Seek 7

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to Discovery and Disillusion  
Summary: Set the stage for the final battle  
Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the start of slash (in a loving relationship)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

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**Feedback** For all of you who followed the past stories, I hope that you find this story equally as interesting if not more so! Your reviews and suggestions are, as always, deeply appreciated! Due to Fanfiction rules I am unable to thank you in depth but I would like to say thanks to reviewers **Pineapple Ice, ****Jania****Verona****Fluffy Vampire_

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_** **Occasionally, these unholy unions between human woman and incubus were believed to create offspring. Children born with any type of deformity were automatically suspect. Twins were also suspicious. The magician Merlin was thought to be the fruit of one of these demonic intercourses. Medieval records are filled with graphic accounts of half-human, half-animal creatures that were reputedly fathered by incubi. These offspring were called Cambions._ Occultopedia(dot)com

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**Hide and Seek 7**

Carl scanned the blue afternoon sky with the fervent hope that he would not see any disfiguring dark shapes, no giant wings supporting beautiful powerful bodies that should never have existed. He had been up on the balcony roof of the Borgia tower for hours shooting down anything in the air. Benerd had been by his side, feeding him ammunition–the monk had gotten good at hearing the difference in sound the spinning disks made as they rattled up out of a nearly empty cannister. He was able to slap a freshly filled cannister into Carl's hand without being asked for it now.

Like Carl, he was also deathly tired and absolutely certain he'd never be able to sleep again–his mind was crammed with the grotesque images of flying horrors, more than enough to populate his screaming dreams for years to come.

A clatter from the stairwell didn't even phase Carl's attention. It was Benerd who shambled over to take the heavy basket being raised up through the dark hole and lowered an empty basket in its stead. Grunting with the effort, the rotund monk lugged the basket filled with retrieved tojo blades over to his place beside Carl, collapsing onto the beautifully tiled floor that was now covered in blood and other odious bits. By rote, he opened one of the empty ammunition canisters and began to fill it. Above him, Carl huffed out a small sigh, then groaned as he lowered the heavy gun to let it fall at his feet. An instant later, he was seated beside Benerd, grimly reaching for another canister to fill.

"Do you think they're done?" the monk asked, his blue eyes rising out of habit to scan the sky above them.

"Yes, for a while. Probably until dark. Then the vampires will come."

"Hmph. That's bad, isn't it." The assessment was a statement, not a question and earned a sardonic smile from the friar.

"Yes, yes that would be bad. The harpies, ghouls and whatnots are plentiful, but it's the vampires that are smart."

Benerd just nodded. His normally pink face was pale and blood-streaked-he looked grotesque, a fact he was sure of because he only had to look at Carl to see what he himself must look like. Carl's normal bubbly personality was completely absent. His blue eyes were now dark and bloodshot, the fine blond hair was soaked through with sweat from the afternoon heat and stress and was slicked back over his head. The brown robe was torn from snatching claws, revealing long bloody cuts and normally pale white skin that had now begun to burn under the sun's relentless rays.

The fighters below had handled the hordes of beasts that had besieged the Vatican See; parties had roamed the streets, dispatching monsters as the friars and monks had led the fleeing noncombatants back to the Palace for safety. It had been a grueling, hours-long battle and no one had any doubt about it continuing into the night.

Carl had managed to meet briefly with Cardinal Jinette and had informed him of the battle with the incubus and the fact of another enemy, still probably within the Palace itself. The prelate had listened quietly, dark brows drawn down and mouth set in a thin angry line–the only change in his expression was a small flickering in his eyes and a brief movement of the lips as Carl informed him of Marcus' final death. When the friar had finished, Jinette nodded, then raised his eyes to the domed roof rising above them.

"I want you up there, Carl. You'll handle anything on wings, leave the ground beasts to us."

"Yes, of course," Carl nodded, blinking in surprise.

A tiny smile appeared on Jinette's mouth for the first time as he tilted his head to regard the friar. "You have proven to be a surprise, Carl. But now I intend to rely on you in Van Helsing's absence. You needn't battle alone, but I will trust you to defend the See in the same manner as I would expect of Van Helsing. Are you able?"

Carl gave the thought a moment's consideration, admitting to himself that he really had no choice. He could hardly go back to the innocence of making weapons without ever knowing the feeling of their use. He'd killed now, several times, and he would need to go on killing to defend both himself and the people of the See. He felt he had begun to know how Gabriel felt, in some small way, and was grateful for the fact that he would not be alone in the battle to come. He sighed as he raised his eyes to Jinette's again and nodded.

"Good!" the prelate's smile widened as he clapped Carl on the shoulder. "I am pleased that you are here, Carl. I believe it will make a tremendous difference in our battle." With a last thump on the thin brown shoulder, the prelate turned away to stride to the great doors. Only then did Carl realize that the Cardinal carried a sword as he saw the sun strike it in a brilliant flash that became muted where the blood besmirching the blade hid the metal. It seemed everyone was fighting. Idly Carl wondered if the Pope was up on his balcony with a sword, then reflexively crossed himself.

That memory was hours old now. Carl wondered if the Cardinal was still down by the front doors of the Palace where most of the ground fighting had taken place. The friar had been hard-pressed not to leave his ariel vantage to instead go help the fighters below. Every time he seriously considered doing so, however, a new ariel wave would arrive and he would be forced to agree that his current position was the best choice.

Benerd had arrived shortly after Carl, no doubt expecting Carl to take his previous vantage point. He hadn't asked questions, only passed filled canisters. When it became apparent that the fighting would be going on for some time, he'd disappeared briefly to make arrangements for the return of the spent tojos, a necessary but gruesome job for the friars and monks who had to pry them from the dead bodies that littered the gardens and streets. Working in tandem, the monk and friar had cut a huge swath through the in-bound monsters. When it was safe, they fired down on the incoming land-bound beasts, ripping through them in a devastating wave that evoked an ululating scream from the dying fiends that rocked the stones in their mortar. Carl had only crossed himself and, with a quick reassuring glance at the pale monk beside him, had gone on with the slaughter.

Now, as the friar and monk filled the spent canisters, rubbing off the worst of the blood and 'bits' on their robes before dropping them with a metallic 'thunk' into the cylinders, they began to talk, falling into a sort of game that they had invented during the hours on the rooftop.

"After this is over..." Benerd began, a quick grin touching his lips as he raised his eyes to Carl's, prompting him.

"...we'll go back downstairs and storm the kitchens..." Carl answered with a raised eyebrow and a crooked return smile.

"...and force Brother Archibald to hand over the lager he holds for the Cardinals!" Benerd crowed, laughing.

"We'll drink cup after cup of it until we're dead drunk," Carl snorted, shoving Benerd as the monk brayed, tonsils very much in evidence, "and once we're _really_ tipsy..."

"Ah!...um...we'll...march on Brother Felcher! Weapons ready!" Benerd waved a canister, dropping half the all-ready loaded tojos and eliciting a choking gasp of laughter from Carl.

"God yes! We'll march on Brother Felcher and sack his holy empire! Taking prisoners..."

"Soap!" Benerd interrupted.

"Yes! And more of that talcum–mustn't chafe!" Carl waved a finger, smirking and snorting unctuously at Benerd.

Benerd's laughter topped him over, his hands waving feebly in the air. "Stop it! Oh God...stop it! I...I..."

"Give?" Carl prompted with a smirk.

"Give..." Benerd wheezed and closed his eyes as Carl launched himself to his feet and executed a wild dance of victory.

"Good old Brother Felcher!" Carl crowed. "He wins it ever time!"

Benerd saved any reply he might have made for regaining his breath. His sides ached, his stomach ached, and his cheeks ached. Adding to the pains he'd gathered spending time with Carl's sense of humor were the pains of the battles they'd been in. The thought of a cask or two of lager was very appealing at that moment.

"Do you think we could go down...just to rinse off some of the worst ooze? And maybe get a bite to eat and a cup to drink?" he asked with a touch of longing in his voice, his blue eyes rising to the friar with hope.

Carl smiled down at his friend with real affection. It was hard not to be awfully fond of the man after spending hours relying on him to fend off attacks aimed at Carl's back. "Oh, I think we can do that," he assured Benerd graciously. "In fact, to be frank, if I have to stand one more moment of smelling myself–and worse, smelling you–I think I'll throw myself off this roof."

Benerd snorted but didn't disagree–they did stink. In fact the whole balcony stunk to high heaven in the sun's heat and the worst of what made it stink seemed to be permanently stuck to their robes.

With matching grimaces, they squelched their way over the slippery tiles to descend the steps into the blessedly cooler rooms below.

"We should probably take off our shoes," Carl remarked as he eyed the priceless rugs adorning the beautiful chamber.

"Hmph," Benerd sniffed, but he joined Carl in the divestiture of sandals. Both men wiggled their toes with groans of relief in the soft velvet pile of the rugs as they slowly and stiffly made their way to the chamber door. Hauling it open, Benerd looked back at Carl as he passed through with a hopeful expression.

"Lager?"

"Oh yes, probably!" Carl agreed, nodding happily as he pulled the door to after them.

Carl sighed with relief as he yanked the foul robe off in the privacy of his chamber. Holding it before him between pinched fingers, he sidled over to the window and tossed the garment out. He couldn't see himself ever wearing it again and frankly didn't want to spend another moment in close quarters with the smell it exuded.

Now, he turned to the tin bath and pitchers of water that lined the floor. He'd ordered them early on, asking to have them delivered to his chamber with the slightly guilty assurance that his new role as pro-tem Hunter would preclude any refusals or questions. Now, he emptied the pitchers into the bath with a growing smile as the water level rose higher and higher. He wanted to submerge himself in the water, to float while he washed the sweat from his hair and the ache from his body. It was a lovely, long oval bath and weighed hundreds of pounds as it was filled with water. He wasn't sure how long his celebrity status would last, but while it did, he wanted to enjoy _every _moment of it in this bath–pruning be damned!

The last pitcher upended with a splash and Carl wriggled with delight as he pushed his cotton drawers down and stepped out of them with a kick that deposited them neatly in a corner of the chamber. Climbing over the high sides of the bath was awkward with his painful muscles, but his groaning cries of pleasure as he settled into the water, feeling it climb up to his neck, were heartfelt. He imagined what the cries must sound like to the monk who lived in the chamber next to his and to those passing in the halls outside and blushed rosily. Well, truth be told, it wouldn't be the first time such noises had come from Carl's room and, once Gabriel returned, it wouldn't be the last, so they might as well get used to hearing them now.

Carefully, Carl pushed away from the side of the tub, to stretch his legs out and found, to his delight, that he could float in the long oval tub. His happy sighs were muffled by the hollow sound of the lapping liquid in his ears as he floated in the water and closed his eyes. He felt the dirt and sweat that bound his hair to his scalp loosen and drift away as his hair floated around him and he enjoyed the sybaritic sensation with sinful pleasure. Oddly, he wondered if Jinette ever enjoyed his bath as much as Carl was currently enjoying his, then tamped down that thought rigorously as it evoked images of the nude Cardinal playing with bath toys. Shuddering, Carl forced his eyes open and his rear to sink to the tub bottom again.

Brother Felcher's soap was opened with due ceremony and respect, Carl's nose attaching itself to the pristine white cake with a moan of pleasure. It smelled of lavender and spice and Carl could readily imagine how it would lather with a vengeance. He wasn't disappointed–it floated on the water and practically exuded lather without even being touched, let alone flogged and pummeled like the rock-hard soap that Carl was usually given. Forcing himself to his feet, Carl lovingly lathered every inch of his body, starting with his hair and working his way down, frequently sniffing the fragrance that perfumed his skin with a happy smile. Once he resembled a large soap bubble, he submerged himself completely, dunking his head and holding his breath for as long as he could before surging back up spluttering and shaking his head.

He felt pampered and in love with the world at that moment, sitting in his tin tub with a half-melted bar of soap in his hand and an ear-to-ear grin on his face. It was only the promise of food and lager that made him reluctantly scrub his toes then rise once more to climb out of the tub. He regretted that he had to dry off with the rough coarse towels that friars made do with, but promised himself another visit to the unctuous Brother Felcher would be forthcoming to rectify that problem.

The puddles from the morning had dried up nicely, now they were replaced by the puddles from Carl's boisterous bathing. He didn't mind-splashing through them, he reached up into his clothes press to draw down his last clean robe. Hmph, looked like better towels weren't the only thing Brother Felcher would be parting with.

Clean from top to bottom and smelling wonderful, Carl strapped on his sandals and left his chamber with regret. When he came back later, the tub would be emptied but new pitchers of water would be there to fill it again. No doubt after a night of fighting off vampires and God knew what else, he'd need them.

The corridors were fairly quiet–everyone was trying to catch up on their interrupted sleep no doubt. Feeling vaguely guilty over his earlier loud cries of pleasure, Carl now tip toed past the closed doors, finally emerging into the great domed hall with relief. It was very busy here; fighters were returning, their faces pale and grimed with gore as they favored Carl with tired smiles. Other fighters were starting out, supposedly invigorated by sleep and food but looking as exhausted as those they were meant to replace. Knowing what they had faced earlier, Carl wasn't surprised that the sleep these men had snatched had been less than restful–he was already resigned to the fact that he would no doubt be doing his own share of thrashing and twitching in the nightmare realm when he finally could no longer hold sleep off.

The great dining hall was packed, but he spotted Benerd's waving hand and was relieved to see the monk had saved a seat for him. Sliding in next to the rotund man, he grinned at the platter of food and the over-full cup of lager.

"Thought you'd never get here," Benerd's muffled voice reproached him–the monk didn't bother to raise his head from his plate. "Thought I'd have to eat your share."

"Hmph, perish the thought," Carl snorted as he raised the cup of beer to his nose and inhaled reverently. With a deep sigh that welled up from the soles of his clean feet, Carl immersed himself in the cup, feeling an orgasmic shudder of pleasure as the cold liquid sloshed about his mouth before gracing his throat with its heavenly presence.

When he surfaced, the mug was empty and Benerd was eyeing him with the respect of a man deeply impressed.

"Enjoy your drink, eh? Haven't heard those kinds of noises since I last visited a brothel that specialized in...ahem...ah me...well, you know."

Carl smiled beatifically as he licked the foam from his lips, eyes closing in pleasure. "Oh...that was good–_better _than sex!"

"Ah, well you don't get out much that's plain," Benerd grinned before returning to his plate and his own mug.

They ate and drank with concentration, only looking up to signal for more which arrived with flattering promptitude. Benerd grinned at that and thereafter made sure that everyone knew that he was with the new Hunter, causing the friar to blush and keep his eyes lowered.

After fifteen minutes of dedicated trenching, Carl was feeling pleasantly full and at peace. Raising his eyes to look about, he spotted the Cardinal at the door of the hall. Jinette spotted him as well because he waved Carl over to him with a peremptory air.

"Whoops," the friar murmured as he surreptitiously kicked Benerd in the ankle, making the monk growl around a full mouth. "We're being summoned. Time to go."

Rising from his seat, Carl pitilessly hauled Benerd up with him, dragging the protesting monk after him as he wove his way through crowds to approach the Cardinal.

Jinette's normal reserve unbent enough to allow him to nod at Benerd before turning to Carl, his dark eyes becoming hard and assessing. "You look rested enough. Think you'll be able to hold down your spot tonight?"

"Yes, I believe Benerd and I can handle that," Carl nodded, a flickering smile touching his lips as Jinette's eyes slid over to the monk with a new appraising light in them. The monk paled under the scrutiny and backed up a step, only halted from fleeing by Carl's firm grasp on his elbow.

"Benerd," Jinette repeated, a thoughtful note in his voice. "All right then. Try to get some sleep. And you might arrange for food to be brought up to you along with water, since you won't be coming down from the roof until the morning. You're in the Borgia Tower?"

"Yes. It seems to be the best spot so far. If I need to move, I'll send word," Carl promised and received a nod in reply. Jinette favored him and the monk with one last thoughtful look before leaving them without another word.

Beside the friar, Benerd heaved a tremendous sigh that temporarily made the air smell of beer. "God, doesn't he half put the wind up!"

"Hah," Carl snorted, shoving his shoulder against the monk's to get him moving through the door and out into the great hall. "You've just seen him when he's pleased. Just wait until you have to stand in front of him when he's angry."

The shudder that rippled down the entire length of the monk made Carl laugh out loud and drew some pointed looks from the grim men crowding the area. Carl didn't mind, it felt good to laugh and he was grateful to the monk for making it possible, wittingly or not.

A familiar face raised a 'Halloo" from Carl and Paul slid up to them with a flushed down-turned face.

"Paul, what are you doing up here? You're not fighting are you?" Carl asked, taking the young friar's shoulders in his hands as he anxiously ran his eyes over the young man. He could see no signs of injury, but the brown robe the young friar wore was as fouled with blood as his own had been earlier.

"No, the Cardinal won't let me fight," Paul spoke harshly, his usual breathless happiness was blatantly missing and Carl's hands tightened on his shoulders to keep him firmly before him. The younger friar obviously wanted to leave and he refused to meet Carl's eyes, making the older man wonder why. Then he remembered the conversation between them earlier in the labs and a blush colored his cheeks. He had admitted that he loved Gabriel to the boy, he wondered if Paul was jealous or repulsed that his hero could love another man.

"Paul, are you all right? Are you angry with me?"

The young friar's mouth tightened into a white line as his eyes flew up to Benerd, then back down to the ground. The monk's pink mouth opened in an 'O' of realization–he briefly touched Carl's arm, then left the two other men alone, or as alone as they could be in the crowd that surrounded them.

Paul seemed to relax when the monk left, but Carl did not release his shoulders. Instead, he shook them gently until the other friar's eyes rose to his.

"Paul, you _are_ angry with me. I can see it. Please talk to me."

The young man fidgeted, still refusing to speak though his eyes never left Carl's. The older friar could see the indecision and a hurt reticence in the brown eyes that made him want to sigh with frustration. With a suppressed growl, his hands dropped from the shoulders to instead take the boy's arms as he pulled Paul into a deep niche and out of the milling crowd. The shadows hid them fairly well and offered some privacy for their talk.

"Now, we're as alone as we're going to get, for now. So tell me, why are you angry? Is it because of what I said about Gabriel?"

Paul's cheeks flushed a brilliant red as his eyes dropped. His hands rose between them, fingers fumbling with the rough brown fabric of his robe. "You love him? Like...like a..."

"Yes, I love him," Carl interrupted firmly, his hands coming down over Paul's to still the twisting fingers. "No, not like a woman–I can't think of anyone less like a woman than Gabriel. But I love his body and his mind, his courage and his kindness. And he loves me, I think for the same reasons."

"Oh," Paul sighed and shrugged when Carl's hands on his tightened.

"The idea of two men," Carl began, then stopped when Paul shook his head vehemently.

"I...I don't mind...that..." the young friar began, his hands below Carl's turning to clasp the older man's tightly as his eyes lifted to meet Carl's.

"Then what?" Carl leaned closer, his gaze fixed on Paul's with genuine distress as he saw the young man's eyes were filled with an angry despair. His uninjured hand tightened on Paul's to the point of pain and he saw the spark of anger deepen in the brown eyes.

"Because...why!" Paul demanded angrily. "Why _him_! He doesn't love you, Carl! He doesn't love anything! He's the same breed as the Inquisitors, the same type of blood-thirsty beast as those things outside, and that fat monk you insist on squiring. You're worth more! You deserve more!" Abruptly, Paul threw himself at Carl, forcing the blond man back hard against the niche wall as he pressed his mouth against Carl's.

Carl gasped and then choked as Paul's tongue entered his mouth fully. His hands in Paul's jerked as he tried to free them, and Paul allowed it, settling his hands instead on Carl's chest to rub the rough material hard against his breasts.

"Ngh," Carl growled against the tongue stroking his as his hands flew to Paul's shoulders and shoved. The younger friar did not move one inch, though Carl's arms corded with thick muscles as he shoved at the other man. He felt Paul's lips move, curling into a smile as he pressed himself more fully against the blond friar, his hands sliding over Carl's body to circle his back and then down onto his buttocks to squeeze bruisingly. Paul's mouth on his was wet and hard, the tongue in his mouth repeatedly pushed inside then withdrew slightly only to push in again. The image the motion evoked in Carl's mind made him groan with anger as he writhed in the younger man's arms.

He should have been able to push Paul away–the thought kept pounding in his head in time to the tongue thrusting into his mouth. The amount of strength Carl was able to muster was significant, especially as angry as he currently was. It should have been enough, but Paul barely swayed under the force of Carl's repulsion. He could hear the liquid sucking sounds of the kiss and they made him want to retch. When he felt Paul's hands on his buttocks begin to move, to draw up Carl's robe, he moved without thinking, his hand flew down between the other man's legs and seized the sizeable erection, squeezing it with all of the force of Carl's muscles.

He felt rather than heard Paul's scream into his mouth and he didn't hesitate to bite down viciously on the tongue still pressing against his own. Now the other friar's arms loosened and Carl shoved him away and out of the niche, following immediately. Circling the moaning man who stood half bent over with blood flowing over his lips and his hands between his legs, Carl wiped his own mouth on his arm in disgust.

Benerd had reappeared, his eyes wide as he took in Carl's rumpled appearance and the other friar's battered state. "Carl?"

"Don't ask," Carl snapped and turned away to stalk off into the crowd.

Benerd turned back to Paul in time to see the young man's head fly up and his eyes fix on Carl's retreating back with a feral lust so obvious that Benerd fell back several steps before he was aware of it. The young friar slowly stood upright and wiped the blood from his lips, his eyes meeting Benerd's as he carefully licked the crimson off his hand with a long swipe of his tongue.

"Waste not, want not," he growled and snorted when Benerd blanched. "Stay away from him, monk. He's not for you. Nor for that oafish Hunter."

Benerd backed up several more steps, allowing the crowd to flow between them and to hide the anger and hatred in Paul's eyes. Then he turned and ran, as fast as he could, after Carl.

It was dark, so very dark. Van Helsing felt himself alone in this dark and wondered at the loneliness the realization elicited. He was used to being alone–why was this any different? With surprise, he realized his eyes were closed and forced them open, groaning as blood caked eyelashes pulled at bruised skin before releasing.

His bleary sight took some time to acclimate to the new darkness, richer, more vibrant than the blackness behind his eyelids. It occurred to him to wonder at the need to acclimate–he had grown used to the ability to see in near total darkness and the fact that he missed that ability worried him. He was growing dependent on his new senses, something he had never planned to do.

Now, as he looked about, he recognized the surroundings. He was back in his bed, in Josef's house. It was still night, which surprised him. He felt as if a great deal of time had elapsed, but the nighttime sky appeared to refute the evidence of his internal clock. At least it was quiet now, no sounds of battle, no cries from the throats of the damned and the soon-to-be damned. The battle was over–and judging by the fact he lay on this bed it had finished in favor of the coven.

Carefully, Van Helsing attempted to move and nearly passed out from the pain. A wavering cry hovered on the tip of his tongue and he bit it back viciously. He had not felt such raw pain in all the time he had at his memory's disposal. It encompassed his body and mind and it was with gratitude that he gave in to it and sunk back into blessed unconsciousness.

When he awoke again, the sun was pressing on his eyelids and he was able to open his eyes easily. He could feel that his skin was clean, so someone had washed him. He wondered if it had been Josef or Gretchen and frowned as he remembered the girl's still body lying on the tilled earth. His mind also summoned the image of Mavis and Karol, also still and lifeless upon the soil they had tilled. Had any of them survived?

He was tempted to try to move again, but had instant second thoughts on the matter. The pain of his last attempt hardly made the effort desirable. Rather, he settled for moving his gaze about the room and was shocked to discover that he was not alone.

Gretchen half sat-half reclined sideways on the stiff wooden chair at the side of his bed. Her head was pillowed on her arms that lay across the top of the chair back and he could easily see the livid bruises on her bent neck and across her pale cheek. Her skin and clothing were clean so her injuries had evidently been seen to. He smiled as he looked at the young girl, grateful that she had survived her meeting with the vampire.

Perhaps feeling his gaze, her dark eyes opened to fix on his, and a tentative smile curled her lips. When he smiled in return, she sighed and slipped from the chair to throw herself over his chest, burying her face in his neck.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't want to, really, I didn't want to."

"Gretchen?" Awkwardly, he looked down at what he could see of the girl. Tentatively, he attempted to raise his arms and was rewarded with motion and pain. The pain was bad, but not agonizing so he continued, carefully curling his arms around the girl's shoulders and patting them. It felt odd to be comforting another, to be touching someone other than Carl. People tended to avoid him, certainly they didn't encourage touching.

The girl appeared to appreciate it though, because she sniffed and pushed her nose deeper into his neck, her tears rolling down over his skin and into his hair made him blink and sigh with remorse.

"Gretchen, it's not your fault. If it's anyone's, it's mine for coming here."

The girl didn't answer, so he continued to stroke her back awkwardly and murmured nonsensical soothing sounds that he'd often heard Carl make when he was tending Van Helsing's injuries. Though he'd never understood the words, they had always seemed to make him feel better.

Apparently they did the same for Gretchen, because she sighed against his hand and spoke in a soft faintly stuffy voice. "That's nice. It's like the way my mother strokes me."

"I'm glad it comforts you. How is Karol? And Mavis?" Van Helsing spoke hesitantly, not sure of the proper way to address his concerns regarding the women when speaking with the young girl who was daughter to one and niece to the other. He was out of practice talking with people, he usually left it up to Carl.

"They're fine. Plenty of bruises, but they'll heal."

"Fine?" Van Helsing's brows dipped as he shook his head. He distinctly remembered the two women–Karol had still been breathing, it was possible she was still alive. But no breath moved Mavis' chest. He remembered the coldness of her skin and the absolute certain knowledge that no life remained in that body. "Are you sure? You've seen them?"

Gretchen stirred, rising up to sit on the side of the bed, her hand resting on his chest. Her dark gaze fixed on his was still sorrowful, but she nodded and smiled for him.

"Yes, I have seen them. Mavis is angry and my mother has said that she must stay in bed for at least a day. My mother also is bed-bound, like you. The coven will see to the farm now, while my father looks after them."

Van Helsing's eyes left the girl's to move to the patch of sunlit sky he could see out of the open window. He didn't understand but he wasn't sure how to ask the questions he needed answers for. Certainly, asking Gretchen seemed inadvisable. He brought his eyes back to the waiting girl and smiled.

"Can Josef spare some time to speak with me? I enjoy your company, but I need to...er..."

Gretchen's cheeks colored prettily as she nodded and rose to her feet. Without a word, only a backwards directed smile, she left the room, closing the door after.

Van Helsing sighed as he rubbed his hand over his face, noting the length of unshaved stubble as an indicator of time passed. It had been at least two days. Had he been unconscious all that time?

The sounds of footsteps alerted him of Josef's arrival and he turned his eyes upward to greet the man as he entered the room.

Josef had an injured arm that was caught up in a rough cotton sling and his face had a series of stitches from eye socket to jawline. But he smiled at his guest as if he were genuinely pleased to see Van Helsing. It made the hunter feel unusually self-conscious.

To cover the uncomfortable sensation, he gestured at the sling and when he spoke, his voice was a rough growl. "Your arm–it's broken?"

"Ja," the man smiled and shrugged, then grimaced as the gesture no doubt caused twinges in sore muscles. "It was a good fight."

"Good fight?" Van Helsing echoed, the corners of his lips betraying him by curling upwards. "I'd hate to think what you'd call a bad fight."

"Heh, I'd say that would be your fight, with the wraith," Josef snickered as he seated himself in the bedside chair. "We thought you were dead, since you were half buried any way, we were prepared to just finish the job by shoveling a little more dirt over you. It came as a surprise when you moved. I think one or two of them may have pissed themselves."

The hunter chuckled and then winced as the motion of laughing caused agonized pain in his lower back. Josef nodded as he watched the signs of passing pain flicker over the other man's face. "Ja, you're going to be sore for a while. Actually, you should be dead, but you seem to be hard to kill."

"I've been told that," Van Helsing growled as he lifted the blanket and unabashedly looked down at his nude body. It seemed that he was wrapped in bandages from chest to foot and he raised an eyebrow at the amount of blood on the wrappings.

"Like I said," Josef noted as he craned his head to look down at the wrappings, "that's my idea of a bad fight."

"Mine too," came the admission from the bed and with a sigh, Van Helsing lowered the blanket again. "How are Mavis and Karol? Gretchen says they're both recovering, but I thought..."

"You thought they were dead?" Josef queried bluntly, softly, smiling when Van Helsing nodded. "There is a good deal you don't know about witches, Mr. Van Helsing," Josef sighed as he settled back in his chair. "Probably it won't do you any good to tell you most of it, no need. But you should know that when Mavis looks at something...you know what I mean by 'looks'?" At Van Helsing's nod, the farmer continued. "When she looks at something, she goes to a place far away to do it. I don't understand it well myself, though she has tried to tell me. But when she goes there, her body appears to us as dead. We don't hear her heart, we don't see her breath."

"How is that possible?"

Josef shrugged, this time carefully. "Like I said, it is a thing that Mavis knows and the rest of us have to take on faith.

Far from satisfied, Van Helsing forced his questions down for the moment. The farmer stood up then, gesturing to the hunter's prone body.

"You already know you won't be getting up for awhile–knowing you, maybe sooner than anyone else would, but not for a while. Do you really need to make water?"

A blush colored the hunter's cheeks as he shook his head. "No. I wanted to talk with you. It seemed the best way to do it privately."

"Ja, it worked fine. You need to talk with me again, just ask for me. I'll come."

The farmer reached down and patted Van Helsing's shoulder, shaking his head as he did so. "Damn me if you aren't a tough bastard. I begin to think Mavis' going's on about you being the Left Hand of God are right. Only the Mother knows how you managed to kill the wraith and that should not have been possible. I think I'll look forward to talking more with you, later, when you are better."

With another pat, the farmer stood upright and left the room, closing the door behind him. And Van Helsing's eyes closed with the door, despite his best intentions.

When he awakened for the third time, he found he could move with less pain. Carefully, he brought himself up onto his elbows, then levered himself upright. The sheet and blankets fell to his lap and he looked down at the bandages wrapped around his torso. They weren't bloodstained, so they had been changed, probably recently. He set about unwrapping them, noting as each successive loop uncovered more skin that the wounds revealed were closed and gave the impression of being weeks old. There was no sign of infection, for which he was profoundly grateful. The cotton wrappings were gently untangled and thrown to the foot of the bed; his hands ran over his skin, touching the new bruises, scrapes, and stitched cuts that marred it with a feeling of deep gratitude. He didn't understand his body's ability to heal itself so easily, but at this point he could readily be thankful for it.

The door opening caught him by surprise and as a blush reddened his face, his hazel eyes flew up to meet the dark gaze of Mavis. She took in his half naked body and the blush and a smile softened her tight mouth.

Stiffly, she pulled the bedside chair to a place where he could easily meet her eyes and sat herself down.

"You look good," she nodded at him, chuckling when he self-consciously raised the sheet to his chest. "You have healed very quickly. Do you have much pain?"

"No," he answered, his eyes flicking over her with wonder. She chuckled again as he she watched the marveling gaze.

"You thought I was dead?"

"Yes. No breath, no heart beat–seemed pretty certain. It fooled the wraith."

Mavis shrugged as she folded her hands in her lap with a complacent air. "It wouldn't have fooled the real Dracula, but this one didn't have all the senses the vampire lord had, thankfully. As for fooling you..." the witch's smile warmed, "I think you had your hands full and can be forgiven."

"Someday, I would like to understand this better," Van Helsing ventured, his frown lifting as the woman nodded. "You were going to give me the name of the one responsible for the wraith. For all of this."

"Yes, I was. I think now I am as eager for you to have it as you are," Mavis conceded, her smile becoming grim. "The one you seek is a beast of a different kind and very powerful. He cloaks himself in the guise of ordinary flesh and blood but he is neither. You are aware of a powerful witch that lived centuries ago called 'Merlin'?"

"Yes," Van Helsing nodded hesitantly as images exploded within his memory. "I remember dark eyes, light hair, and an easy laugh. I don't believe he could be the one you are trying to warn me of."

The hunter had spoken musingly, more to himself than Mavis, but she heard and her gaze on him sharpened perceptibly. "Hmph, you are a surprise, hunter. And I'm not surprised often. No, he isn't the one I'm warning you about, but his powers are very like. It is said that Merlin was a Cambion, the child of an incubus and a woman. This gave him the powers of both the mortal and the immortal world."

She paused, to allow the man to soak the information in before proceeding. "The one you seek is the same sort of creature, half demon half man. But he has none of Merlin's goodness. He is a monster that life has given much pain to. As a result, he has grown in hate and lust and every fine sense he might have had has been warped to monstrosity. He is very powerful–I have said that. I hope that, remembering Merlin, you realize how powerful."

Van Helsing's face was harsh and grim as he nodded. "Give me a name. And tell me how to kill him."

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Readers, please review this story by pressing the little button below: the one that is jumping up and down and screaming your name–yes, that's the one. Let your mouse do the walking and click on it. Comments can be as long or as short as you like–heck, I'll be happy with one word! And you don't have to be a member to review so click away. Give your mouse a **_thrill_**!

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TBC 


	8. Hide and Seek 8

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to Discovery and Disillusion  
Summary: Carl's role as Hunter is cut short gruesomly  
Notes: Short chapter, but it accomplishes what I wanted!

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the start of slash (in a loving relationship)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: **For all of you who followed the past stories, I hope that you find this story equally as interesting if not more so! Your reviews and suggestions are, as always, deeply appreciated! Due to Fanfiction rules I am unable to thank you in depth but I would like to say thanks to reviewers **Verona Dracula, ****Fluffy Vampire**

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**Bugbears **are very large, very hairy, and very aggressive. Their acute senses, especially their sense of smell, allow them to take good advantage of situations where the senses of others will be hampered.

Bugbears fear fire more than anything, their fur being surprisingly flammable. They tend to be evil, though neutral bugbears and even a few good ones have been known to exist. Bugbears' most common interracial relationship is with trolls, whom they respect for their superior size and strength, and whose language they speak. **http:mozart(dot)atpnet(dot)com/runderdark.html**

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**Hide and Seek 8**

Skittering, jostling, growling...too much to do, too much to prepare for. The doorway from darkness to light has been opened and the masses are gathering. Their master has called and they must answer the call of war–outwardly, they will do as they are told. Inwardly–ah, that's another story.

Carl moved cautiously, eyes always moving, checking the dark corners both above and below. In the weeks that had passed, the Order had found that all of their efforts to keep the dark hordes of monsters out of the Palace had failed–somehow, the creatures they fought against had infiltrated and multiplied. The first casualty had been old Brother Alfred. He'd been found sitting in a confessional, eyes wide in mild surprise, his frail hands still holding the gaping hole in his stomach.

There had been other injuries–thank God none of them fatal as the Order rallied to battle the foe both inside and out. By 'rallied', it was generally understood that the Hunters of the Order would disperse into the dark areas to seek out the beasts that now dwelt there and destroy them. Regrettably, there was only one 'Hunter' available to the Order at this time, though more were being trained while others out in the field were being called in.

When Carl heard that he would be the only available 'Hunter' for the Order at that time, he had taken it with a philosophical calmness that had impressed the Cardinal. Benerd, who had been standing by as Carl's now _de facto_ right arm, had been less impressed with the calm–he knew what to expect when they were alone and hadn't been disappointed. The instant they had descended into the catacombs and were finally alone, Carl had let loose. Kicking the stone walls and displaying a here-to-fore unsuspected talent for truly filthy language, the friar had ranted and raved for a good fifteen minutes before winding down. Benerd, not having a death wish of any kind, had stayed well back and perfectly quiet until Carl turned to him with a heaving chest, pale sweating face, and embarrassed gaze. Only then did the monk approach, patting the friar soothingly on his shuddering shoulder with clear understanding.

After that, Carl had settled into the role of Hunter with an acceptance that, if not graceful, at least appeared willing.

As they moved through the dark, eyes always moving, Carl carried a new weapon that he had designed specifically for their new prey–Bugbears. It seemed an unnecessarily cute name for a seven foot, hairy carnivore with 5-inch fangs and longer claws. The creatures were not overly clever, but Carl and Benerd had found out the hard way that these monsters were smart enough to lay traps, hence the need to scan both above and below. After repeatedly having to either destroy or circumvent such traps, Carl had at last stomped back to his lab and spent two grueling sleepless days devising a new weapon. Its' function was quite simple–it shot flames at anything Carl pointed it at. Fire appeared to be the only thing the creatures were afraid of, their hairy skins were exceptionally tough and thick and repelled most weapons, but proved to be unexpectedly flammable. The first time Carl 'flamed' a raiding party, they had found out how well the weapon worked and Carl had spent the next hour attempting to throw up the contents of an empty stomach while Benerd had patted him on the back and kept well out of the way of the business end of Carl's new weapon.

Benerd watched Carl now, impressed once again with the changes he'd seen slowly take shape. The once slightly preoccupied, shy, pompous inventor had been transformed into a completely focused leader who had no qualms about questioning Benerd to get as much information as he could. When Benerd mentioned the change he saw, Carl simply snorted.

"It's hard to be close minded when you're constantly fighting off monsters that shouldn't exist," Carl admitted. "Daily, I'm reminded that Gabriel does this all the time and I really don't know how he manages."

"That's the third time you've mentioned Gabriel," Benerd observed, his keen blue eyes noting the flush on Carl's cheek and the tightening of his lips as if he realized he'd betrayed a secret. "You know, Carl, I'm not naive. I do get around, despite the fact I might not look like someone with a life outside of my lab. You and the Hunter...you're lovers?"

To Carl's credit, though his face flamed with color that Benerd could see even in the flickering light of the torch he carried, the friar held his head up and met the monk's eyes steadily when he nodded his assent. "Does that shock you?" Carl asked softly, and smiled when Benerd shook his head with a shrug.

"I can see why you would admire Van Helsing, and vice versa."

The gentle compliment for his absent love made Carl's smile widen, but the smile grew wistful quickly. "I wonder what he'll say when he gets back to find me hunting Bugbears in the catacombs. I'm not exactly the innocent friar he left behind."

"I suspect that Gabriel loves the adaptability in you as much as he savors your need of him," Benerd remarked dryly. "He doesn't seem the type to enjoy a clinging violet."

"No," Carl admitted, with a quick smile. "I think he's happy that I can take care of myself, though I'm sure he wants to himself. I know that I want to take care of him–sounds a bit odd when I say it, though."

Benerd chuckled quietly, but his expression was wistful. At Carl's enquiring look, the monk sighed. "I envy your having found someone to love. You sound as if you're happy with him."

"I am. I miss him terribly–but it helps to finally have someone that I can talk about my feelings with. Thank you, Benerd. I'm grateful that you understand."

Benerd nodded, his eyes on Carl watchful as he purposely made his voice casual. "What do you think he'll say about Paul?"

The abrupt chill that came over Carl's features was impossible to miss. The friar had taken the incident with his former protege badly. He'd refused to talk about it with Benerd for a long time, weeks, until finally the monk had managed to wring a one sentence description concerning the event from him, and then had refused to say more.

Now the friar bit savagely at his lower lip as he shrugged, his eyes turning to Benerd's with a quelling look. "We'll deal with that when the time comes."

After that, they didn't talk. The hunt resumed with a total concentration that precluded any attempt to bring the topic up again. They'd reached the center of the catacombs and the friar and monk hesitated to emerge out into the open round area. They'd grown used to their prey's preference for ambush and the open area seemed the ideal spot for it.

"Is there anything else you can tell me about them?" Carl asked, his eyes briefly meeting Benerd's before moving on to take in the shifting shadows. He wished with all his heart that he had Gabriel's gift for scenting the air. The beasts they were tracking weren't a pungent lot, but their scent was distinctive. The problem was, unless you had the olfactory senses of a canine, you couldn't smell them until they were much too close.

"Nothing much more than I've told you," Benerd whispered. "They can see in the dark, so if they're here, they can see us right now. They also have excellent hearing. They usually hunt in packs of three to five. And they're carnivorous–they'll eat anything but they prefer fresh meat. Did I mention that before?"

"Yes, several times actually. Stew pots–fresh meat–happy to snack on the odd human. Got that."

"So what do you want to do?" Benerd pressed. He was watching the corridor behind them, leaving the open area before them to Carl so he saw the twitch of the shadows and was already pulling Carl down when a huge spear flew out of the darkness straight at Carl's back.

"Bugbear!" the monk shrieked and felt Carl twist in mid-air, triggering the gun's mechanism to belch fire back down the corridor. The light of the flame illuminated what appeared to be dozens of the hulking monsters and their shrieks as the flame ignited the leaders became deafening as the fire rapidly spread to the ranks pressing up from behind.

Benerd clapped his hand over his nose and mouth as the scent of charring flesh rolled greasily over them. Carl didn't waste the time, instead he seized Benerd's arm and hauled the monk upright, dragging him after as he ran into the open area of the central catacombs. All around them, they heard roaring and the sound of a pervasive drumming noise that made their bones vibrate.

"God, there must be hundreds of them!" Carl gasped and Benerd nodded, coughing and gasping.

"Thousands," he groaned, moving to stand with his back to Carl's as the shadows around them came alive.

"Come on!" Carl cried, seizing Benerd's arm once again, he dragged the monk as he ran toward the nearest darkened doorway, flames once again bathing the way before them. Hulking forms darted away from the flames and they plunged into the darkness, running as fast as they could, the gun's flames periodically belching out to clear their path. Behind them, they heard the skittering noise of heavily padded feet following, always just around a bend or fork, out of the path of the gun's flame.

"Carl, where are we going?" Benerd gasped. Carl only shook his head, not sparing any breath for talking that could more profitably be used for running. "I'm just asking...because...this isn't...the way we...came," Benerd moaned and fell to his knees as they emerged into a small round room with no other exits.

Carl immediately whirled, gun rising, but a huge spear sliced through the air to impale him high in the shoulder with enough force to carry the friar over the ground and pinned him to the far wall with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs. The gun fell from his fingers to bounce on the dirty floor and in that instant the chamber was suddenly full of giant hairy bodies–Carl was able to smell the bugbears now without any problem at all as they poured over him.

They were bundled up with enough rope to make walking difficult, then they were forced to walk by the expedient of long ropes placed about their necks and jerked with easy viciousness whenever their footsteps faltered. The gun was left behind, evidently it had earned enough respect that none of their captors felt safe in picking it up.

All around them, the drumming still vibrated in the air, making the dust of the catacombs settle and their bones ache. It felt as if that drumming had always been there and always would remain, trapped in the stone pressing around them. Carl wanted to beg them to stop it, but he didn't. They wouldn't stop, they would only enjoy his humiliation if he begged them for anything.

They returned to the center of the catacombs to be greeted by hundreds of the beasts, both male and female. A large circle of fire had been lit, Carl noted that though the beasts used it as a tool, a healthy distance was maintained from the leaping fingers of heat. A large pot was currently nestled in the center of the fire, its purpose was gruesomely obvious.

"Ah, that stew pot you mentioned," Carl muttered and saw Benerd wince.

By alternate pushing and pulling, they were forced to the fires, finally stopping before a large stooped brute, with dark fur and red eyes. Carl noted that the other denizens of the catacombs gave the one before them a wide berth, Benerd's whispered word of explanation wasn't needed to identify the beast before them as the chief of the clan. It's clothing, though minimal, was unexpectedly good–a thick belt which appeared to be leather, held a tunic of dark wool closed. The belt was studded with weapons ranging from relatively small daggers to a sword that hung at its' back and looked to be at least six feet long.

Despite its' unexpectedly civilized dress, he was shocked when the brutish maw opened and recognizeable words emerged, though badly slurred and mangled.

"You Hunter?" the beast growled, a thick forefinger jabbing at Carl's injured shoulder, making the friar groan with pain. He held his feet by main will alone as the blood welled anew from the wound to run thickly down his arm to dribble in a continuous stream onto the dirt covered floor. He regretted the sound of pain, but his eyes met the chief's eyes evenly and his voice was clear and steady, for which he was grateful.

"Yes, Hunter."

The brute nodded, its' red eyes moving thoughtfully over Carl's dirty brown robe and sweat slicked hair. "You don't look like Hunter. You look like rest of them. Easy hunting."

"Take these ropes off and I'll show you how 'easy hunting' I am," Carl growled and the chief barked a short sharp laugh that was taken up by the surrounding beasts.

"Mouthy," the brute sneered before turning his attention to Benerd. A huge paw reached out and caressed the monk's round belly, a long red tongue slurped over the beast's muzzle. It murmured something that sounded appreciative and Benerd closed his eyes as more tongues appeared to rasp over drooling muzzles.

"I think you've been accorded 'catch of the day'," Carl murmured with a sympathetic glance at the monk's pasty face and swaying stance. The monk's only answer was a faint peep, which evoked another guttural wave of laughter from the surrounding horde.

Still chuckling, the chief drew a long knife from the belt about it's waist, moving forward toward the monk.

"No!" Carl cried, throwing himself in front of Benerd as the monk collapsed to his knees, his horrified blue eyes riveted to the curving blade.

The chief growled, spitting something in a language Carl didn't understand, but he had no trouble comprehending when the beast grasped him about the throat and lifted him off his feet as the knife surged forward to bury itself in Carl's stomach. The cruel mouth lifted in a smile as the blade twisted and Carl screamed in agony.

It seemed as if everything happened at once then. Gutteral screams of excitement and pain mingled and everywhere the shadows lengthened and flickered, breaking apart, fleeing as a huge lance of darkness surged through them with a booming echo, snapping and tearing, rending flesh and breaking bones.

The chieften who held Carl still suspended in an unbreakable grip was suddenly missing a head as huge jaws closed about his skull with a snap. For an instant, the grip around Carl's throat held, then suddenly he was falling into Benerd's arms. The monk's hands were pressed hard over the wound in Carl's stomach, his pale face seemed to oddly recede then rush back into focus making the friar dizzy.

Carl turned his head and looked back at the chieften. The grotesque body was sprawled on the ground, robbed of all its dignity and power by sudden death. Standing over it was a huge black wolf, larger than any wolf should have been. Carl blinked, forcing his eyes to focus and gasped as large leathery wings unfolded, then furled again as the wolf stood on two legs and met Carl's gaze with blazing green eyes. He heard Benerd's voice praying but only one word came from his own lips before he fainted.

"Gabriel."

TBC


	9. Hide and Seek 9

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to Discovery and Disillusion

Summary: Gabriel and Carl are back together and Gabriel ties up some loose ends

Notes: Forgive me readers, for I have sinned. I've digressed a little from character, just here and there–not a great deal. But I can't resist a good line!

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the start of slash (in a loving relationship)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: **For all of you who followed the past stories, I hope that you find this story equally as interesting if not more so! Your reviews and suggestions are, as always, deeply appreciated! Due to Fanfiction rules I am unable to thank you in depth but I would like to say thanks to reviewers **_Curious Dream Weaver, _****_Fluffy Vampire_**, _**Verona Dracula, **_**_Pineapple Ice_**, **_Jania_**, **_Toto from Kansas (Sharon)_**

* * *

**Hide and Seek 9**

It seemed odd, but Carl was surprisingly comfortable. He wanted to stretch, a long lovely spreading out so that each muscle thrummed pleasantly, but his body wouldn't obey. Additionally, his eyes were open, but all he could see was white–he recognized the soft moist coolness of a compress covering his forehead and eyes and while enjoying the comfort it gave, he chafed at the attendant restrictions. To dull the seriously growing need to move, he instead turned his attention to other things.

As he cast about for some sort of distraction, he became aware of sound, lovely sound, filled with strange voices and one that he knew very well.

"Hmph, you said you weren't hurt, but this is blood I see on your clothes."

"It's just a scratch."

"A scratch from a monster can easily grow septic. Get your shirt off."

A moment of hesitation, then Carl heard the velvet sounds of soft woven cloth interspersed with masculine grunts of discomfort as the voice that he knew so well spoke up in a surly growl, "Are you always this bossy?"

"I don't usually have to be, except with the youngsters. You're a bit old for my knee so a sharp word will have to do. Sit down, you're too tall for me to reach properly."

He felt the softness that he lay upon (a bed?) sag deeply by his feet. He wanted to move, to rub his foot against that beloved body but damn it, he just couldn't move. Reining in his frustration, he opened his ears eagerly to hear more.

"This is deep. I'll need to stitch it."

"Surprise."

"What?" the voice–a woman's–A WOMAN's?–was sharp and querulous. It was followed by a soft snort in which he could detect a hint of amusement, grudgingly allowed. "Not even the children are so much trouble."

A slight jog in the bed, a shrug no doubt.

Moments passed in quiet, he almost drifted off, then, "All right, that's done. You know...I had hoped that you paid better attention to me when we talked earlier."

"I listened."

"Yes, you listened, but you didn't _hear_!" A sharp '_thwack_' followed by a growl. "Ah, _there _is the sound of the wolf."

"That's the sound of a man who doesn't like to be whacked by a termagant."

"You may be too old and too big to go over my knee, but a good ear thumping won't hurt you any. I told you not to call on the wolf or the bat within you. You recall that I said this?"

"I recall."

"But you did it any way, didn't you."

A pause, he could picture the man eyeing the woman with an assessing gaze, deciding how much to tell her. Then the weight on the bed moved and lifted, and again the soft sounds of cloth sliding over skin. "It was necessary. I didn't plan it, but I can't deny it came in handy."

"So that makes it all right?" _THWACK_!

**GRRR**! "...stop that, or I'll put _you _over my knee!"

A giggle, soft, muffled, different from the other woman...Good Lord, TWO WOMEN?

"Don't encourage him, Gretchen! He knows better than to give in to the call of the beast. So...Mr. High and Mighty Hunter...which beast did you call?"

"There wasn't any choice involved. I needed to reach them in time–there were too many monsters, pressed all around..."

"Which!"

A pause, then "Both."

"BOTH!" _THWACK, THWACK!_

"_That does it!_" The sound of a brief flurry of activity, the creak of a severely stressed chair, then silence filled with heavy breathing. "Will you be good, Mistress Carter? Or is it a spanking?"

"Hmph. You are very certain of yourself Mr. Left Hand of God Van Helsing, to force a poor woman to sit on your knee and then threaten her with violence."

A soft chuckle and then a sigh. "Mavis, I don't think anything could threaten you. If I promise to avoid allowing the beast to emerge–either of them–will you stop _hitting _me?"

A long thoughtful pause that made him strain, imagining the combatants eyeing one another with no quarter given on either side. Then, "Very well. Behave yourself, and I will as well."

"Thank God."

"You know that these two beasts–the wolf and the bat–they hate each other with a centuries-old hatred. It is...unusual...that you would be able to call them both at the same time."

"As I said, I didn't do it on purpose–I needed to reach Carl in time. It just happened."

"Ja, I know, I know. Stupid stubborn man."

"Feisty, iron-fisted witch."

A sound suspiciously like a soft kiss, then another creak from the chair–they were standing up.

Footsteps heading toward the door, heavy, making the old wooden floor creak–Gabriel.

"I'll be back. You'll take care of him?"

"Ja, of course. It's lucky for you Gretchen and I came, your ham-fisted monks would have killed him for sure."

A pause, then Gabriel's voice, uncharacteristically soft and humble. "I know. Thank you Mavis, Gretchen. I owe you much."

Another soft chuckle from the voice called Gretchen and then a snort from Mavis. "Get on with you and your soft looks. Go on, out with you. I've no more time to spend yammering."

"Yes ma'am."

He wanted to call out to Gabriel, to stop his departure and instead feel the joy of the man's touch upon his skin again. Instead, he slid inexorably down into drowsy sleep, hearing the door shut on the cusp of his hearing before sleep overtook him completely.

* * *

Van Helsing's displeasure rumbled in his chest as he walked through the crowded corridors. He was used to being avoided, shunned and treated as invisible. But the people he passed as he stalked toward Jinette's offices were eyeing him with the fascination normally reserved for roadside accidents and violent acts of nature. He wondered which of these they classified him under as they jabbed one another with elbows and followed him at a discreet but tenacious distance. Their persistent attention was new and he didn't care for it. He knew what they wanted–they wanted to see how he would handle the emergence of another 'Hunter'. Now that Carl was down, would he leave in a huff or take over killing their monsters for them. He was tempted to take Carl and the two witches and leave the Vatican and its goggling watchers to handle their own problems. 

The difficulty with that pleasant daydream was, as always, the same–he could never take Carl away from the work that he loved. Carl thrived in this environment, in the labs with the society of other inventors. No matter how much he loved Van Helsing, he needed that society. And, if Van Helsing was being strictly honest, no matter how many distasteful memories he had of this place, it was the only place he could remember calling home. So that left only one solution–to deal with the watchers and the monsters.

He recognized the majority of his loyal audience as people who normally dwelt outside of the Palace. They had no part in the machinations of the Order and had probably never seen a monster before. Now, their lives had been destroyed by the beasts besetting the See and to them, it was a nightmare come true. Willingly or not, now they were being made privy to the inner workings of the Order and the men who dealt on a regular basis with the nightmare. Van Helsing suppressed an incipient chuckle at the idea of how Jinette must be lying awake at night, lamenting the loss of the strict muzzling secrecy surrounding the Order as each day ensured news of it was carried further and further afield. He had no doubt the wiley Cardinal would find some way to distort and muzzle the truth again–he was actually looking forward, with a professional's interest, to seeing how it would be accomplished.

He and his cadre of gawkers made their way undeterred to Jinette's apartments. As he stalked down the hallway toward the Cardinal's domicile within the Palace, he hid a smile by lowering his head as the people following him fell back, plainly not intending to attempt anything so sacrilegious as approaching Jinette's private apartments uninvited. He wondered, if Jinette ever happened to suffer an accident, how long would it take for anyone to find out about it as so very few ever took the chance to actually go see him.

No guards were present before the doors, he wasn't surprised, Jinette wouldn't insist on guards that could better be used as defenders of the Palace. Pushing open the doors, he resisted the impulse to shove hard enough to make them rebound against the walls behind them. As satisfying as that oafish gesture would be, he wanted Jinette in a decent humor when they met. Their conversation would be difficult enough without added impetus to the discord existing between them.

The main apartment with its sumptuous trappings of crimson and dark wood was as he remembered it, down to the piles of parchment piled high on every available flat surface. The crimson carpets beneath his feet muffled his footsteps so that his advance across the room was soundless. Without thinking about it, he scented the air and assured himself that Jinette was alone in the adjoining chamber.

Approaching the closed wooden doors with their high-relief carvings he found himself contrasting their impressive beauty with the meager cell that Carl inhabited and felt an unlooked for satisfaction. So much about the Vatican and those within it seemed based on inequality–a few had a great deal while the majority had to make do with so very little. Even so, Carl was happy, and Van Helsing found that he was as well. True, Jinette lived with normally unheard of luxury, but he essentially lived alone. He had no lovers in his life and had freely admitted that he found very little satisfaction in the course of his life. Contrasting that with the memory of the blazing happiness that he felt with Carl in his dingy little chamber, Van Helsing felt like a king.

Sighing at his unexpected sappiness, Van Helsing knocked on the door with a heavy hand before pushing it open. He'd never been inside Jinette's private quarters before–it proved to be as opulent as the outer chamber had been. Thick red velvet rugs, a huge soft bed set high on a platform and covered in deep red coverings, velvet-hung curtains, and a desk made of glimmering wood. Jinette was seated on a hassock before a large fireplace, holding his hands out to the blaze. He didn't look back to see who had entered–he always seemed to know when Van Helsing was around or where he could be found. The hunter had begun to wonder lately if the Cardinal had some 'were' blood himself to be such an efficient tracker.

"It took you long enough to come here," the prelate groused, his voice husky from too little sleep and too much worry. As Van Helsing approached, the other man gestured to another hassock placed close to the blaze. Sinking down onto it, Van Helsing's eyes were wary on the other man. He was unused to even the pretense of civility from Jinette, such courtesies made him wonder what the wily old man wanted from him.

"I was seeing to Carl," he answered the unspoken question, the trace of accusation in his tone made the Cardinal grimace.

"Yes, I heard, of course. It's a good thing you arrived when you did. I'm not sure Carl could have handled the situation otherwise."

"He shouldn't have had to," Van Helsing growled, his hazel eyes on Jinette's face were cold. "Carl shouldn't have to fight monsters for you, where are those other hunters you're always waving in my face? Why did you send a friar to do your dirty work?"

Jinette's face flushed a deep mottled red at Van Helsing's words; he pushed himself up from the hassock with convulsive energy to stalk to the fireplace. For a moment he was quiet, evidently reining in his temper. When he turned to face Van Helsing, his accustomed appearance of querulous superiority was firmly back in place.

"As usual, you have a talent for provoking me, Gabriel," his rasping voice was deceptively calm again. "Carl chose to enter the fight, I didn't insist. He was quite good, actually. He has a definite knack for it, and we needed the help, as you've already noted. You were off, doing God knows what–certainly not what I sent you to do!"

It was Van Helsing's turn to bite down on his own anger, his eyes dropping from Jinette's to fix upon the fire behind him. He'd been prepared for the Cardinal's displeasure–it was something that he had grown accustomed to over the years but it never got any easier to hold his own temper.

"The witches you sent me to find... They're a harmless group of people, they only want to live their own lives in their own way. I know how the Church loves to dictate how others will live but believe me, you don't want to try that with this coven."

"Spare me your rantings against the Church. If you will recall, you work for the same Church you chose to rale against. You're as much a part of it as I am. It wasn't up to you to make decisions about your assignment–it's your job to do as instructed and leave the why's and wherefore's to those better suited..."

"Who's better suited than me?" Van Helsing asked quietly, his head tilting as he raised curious eyes to Jinette. "I was there, I spoke with them, saw how they live. There is no evil in them-  
though they don't bow down to the Church, that does not make them monsters. I saw enough of the real evil while I was there to recognize it."

"Evil no doubt called by them..."

Van Helsing's sharp bark of laughter cut Jinette's angry retort off short. "Hardly. The evil I met...fought...was there to kill _me. _It destroyed their village to get to me–a town no different than any other village I've ever been in. They took me into their homes and risked the lives of their loved ones and neighbors. While I was there, I faced the evil that was sent after me–it followed me all the way to Bavaria. It followed that damned card you gave me–did you know that it was a talisman that calls evil? Or did you give it to me on purpose?"

Jinette's shocked silence was genuine and Van Helsing expelled a sigh of relief that he hadn't known he was holding until it gusted out of him and left him weak and shaky in its wake. He'd been afraid that Jinette was somehow involved in the schemes of the Master, the cambion, that Mavis had spoken of. He was profoundly grateful to find it wasn't so.

Jinette moved to seat himself on the hassock beside Van Helsing. "Very well, Gabriel. Tell me everything that happened."

Van Helsing spent the next hour telling Jinette everything he knew, about the card, the battles he fought while traveling to Dietz, the attack of the gargoyles, and lastly he told about the wraith. While he spoke, he kept his sharp gaze on Jinette, scenting his surprise as the story unfolded. By the time he finished, Jinette's anger was gone to be replaced by wary reflection.

"You say that the werewolf just appeared to fight the wraith. You didn't call on it?"

"No," Van Helsing reluctantly admitted, gritting his teeth with the certain expectation of what was to come. He wouldn't have admitted to the transformation if he wasn't certain that Jinette already knew of his taking the were's shape to help Carl and Benerd. He didn't know how Jinette knew–either through spies or from Benerd, but he was certain the prelate did know and it would do him no good to attempt to cover it up. Bitter past experience with Jinette's hatred of any attempted subterfuge had proven a more than adequate teacher.

The Cardinal nodded, his lips pursing thoughtfully as he stood up again and paced before the fire, his gaze occasionally turning to Van Helsing. "This changes things," he finally sighed, stopping before the hunter, his hands behind his back as he rocked thoughtfully on his heels.

"I thought you'd say that," Van Helsing murmured, grateful that the witches apparently were to be spared the Order's ruthless attentions while at the same time envisioning a number of distasteful consequences coming his way. If the Order had been disturbed when it thought there might be a _possibility_ of the lycanthropy taint still existent in his blood, he could hardly fool himself into thinking it would ignore the actuality of both lycanthropy and vampirism alive and thriving within him. Jinette was even now eyeing him with a mixture of expectation and morbid fascination–the word 'unclean' was unspoken but hung between them like a nasty odor in the air. Van Helsing was surprised that he felt neither anger nor embarrassment about Jinette's disapproval–perhaps he had experienced the prelate's judgment often enough that this newest manifestation of it hardly registered.

"We'll deal with the were problem later," Jinette promised, turning abruptly away. "You should go see Benerd to be brought up to date on the monsters attacking the See. I'll expect you to take Carl's place in the defense."

"What a surprise," Van Helsing murmured as he stood, recognizing that he had been dismissed with new orders that both excused Carl from any further fighting while placing Van Helsing into the battle immediately. He _wasn't _surprised, it had been what he expected, after all.

On his way to the door, he glanced back to find Jinette watching him with a thoughtful expression. He didn't question it, he _had_ given the prelate a great deal to think about. He only hoped that the man's sharp mind would be able to come up with a way out of their current predicament.

* * *

His trip to Benerd's lab was uneventful except for the gaggle of gawkers that followed him. The crowd was growing–he felt their staring eyes everywhere he went and it made the skin between his shoulders itch. Again, once he entered the tunnel leading to Benerd's lab, the crowd hung back, unwilling to commit to actually following him all the way to his dank destination, for which reticence he was profoundly grateful. 

The monk was at his lab table, a great slab of wood set off to the left of the chamber, groaning under piles of paper, rare glass beakers containing noxious liquids, and clear glass cases containing all sorts of items from hair to what appeared to be a mummified finger. Currently, Benerd had a set of odd goggles on that magnified his eyes to ten times their normal size–given Benerd's normal state of wide-eyed wonder, the magnification made the monk's visage truly awe inspiring.

Van Helsing approached the monk hesitantly, remembering that the last time they had met he had been a good deal hairier and capable of flight on large leathery wings. The monk, for his part, seemed to find Van Helsing endlessly fascinating, his gaze on the man through the goggles was disconcerting even for the hunter who had faced a good many disconcerting things.

"Benerd, have pity for God's sake," Van Helsing winced, gesturing at the goggles.

The monk blinked in bewilderment, then abruptly flushed as his hands flew to his goggles to remove them. "Sorry, sorry," he gasped, hiding them behind his back as if they were unsightly laundry. "Forgot I had them on."

An uncomfortable silence followed, each man eyeing the other as if dreading being the first to bring up a distasteful subject but knowing it could hardly be avoided. Feeling as if saying anything would be better than the silence, Van Helsing sighed. "This feels damned odd."

Benerd gasped, as if he had been holding his breath for a very long time, a look of profound relief spreading over his features.

"God yes! I'm sorry about that! I just...I really didn't believe the lycanthropy was still active–it came as shock to see you..er..that way."

"It came as a shock to see you and Carl down in the catacombs," Van Helsing growled, seeing the monk's flush deepen as an expression of mortification came over his features.

"Yes, well...you see..." the monk trailed off awkwardly, helplessly waving his hands before him as if attempting to conjure the hunter's understanding from thin air.

"I'm willing to try–what is it you want me to see?" Van Helsing's murmured promptings were silky with a barely audible menace that made the monk shiver. He stole a look up at the hunter, taking comfort in finding only curiosity in his face.

"Er...well...Carl and I...we've been helping out. After the first fight, where Carl knocked down two harpies with the tojo gun, it just took off from there. We were always up on the roof after that, shooting down monsters. Then the monsters got into the catacombs and it just seemed natural to go after them..."

"Natural? To go after a horde of monsters in dark catacombs, armed with only one gun?" Van Helsing questioned, tilting his head with wonder at the monk's naivete.

"Oh, well...if you put it like that...yes, it's a bit...er..."

"Suicidal?" Van Helsing prompted. "Crazy? Dare I suggest ill-conceived?"

"Er...yes," Benerd sighed, "you _could_ say that, I suppose."

Shaking his head, Van Helsing caught Benerd's shoulders, shaking them gently. "You and Carl could have been killed. I appreciate that you were trying to protect others–but I don't' want to see either of you die trying to do more than can be done. You needed an army down there, not two church mice with one gun."

"Church mice?" Benerd huffed, meeting Van Helsing's gaze with a spark of fire in his usually mild eyes. "We did rather well for two church mice."

"And Carl is now recovering from a stab wound in his belly and a spear in his shoulder," Van Helsing reminded him. "If you want to fight monsters, stick to the rooftops. Leave the catacombs to the guard, because that's what it will take to clean them out."

"That or a damned werewolf with wings!" Benerd growled back, then clapped his hand over his mouth as his wide eyes flew up to Van Helsing's.

The hunter's mouth twitched, then parted in a rueful smile. "Or a werewolf with wings," he admitted. "Damned or not."

"It was the most incredible thing I've ever seen," Benerd soothed, forgetting his horror at mentioning the dreaded taint. "I thought it was another beast come to finish us off, but Carl knew right away."

"He's seen it before," Van Helsing muttered with a sigh. Leaning back against Benerd's lab table, he folded his arms across his chest, eyeing the monk speculatively. "So, now that I'm back, care to fill me in on what's been happening? And don't leave anything out."

The monk was more than happy to tell the hunter about every single moment since his departure and the more he told, the quieter Van Helsing became. However, when Benerd reached the incident between Carl and Paul, he hesitated, unsure if Carl would want him to tell the hunter. Van Helsing's eyebrows rose as he watched the monk 'hem' and 'haw'.

"What aren't you telling me. What happened between them?"

"Er...well, I don't know much...," the monk confessed, a high blush mantling his cheeks.

"Tell me what you do know, then," Van Helsing suggested mildly.

"Ah..well, perhaps Carl..."

"I'll get his story later. Tell me yours. Now."

* * *

Paul looked up in time to see Van Helsing's fist approaching, but much too late to do more than meet it head on. 

The hunter stalked the friar as he slid flat on his back for several feet over the rough stone floor of the lab. When he came to rest, Van Helsing was already there, hauling him up by the front of his brown robe, lifting him so that his feet dangled in the air and he was nose to nose with a very angry monster slayer.

"You've had your hands on Carl–that wasn't very clever of you," he growled as he shook Paul so hard his teeth rattled like dice in a cup. A stream of blood leaked out of Paul's mouth as he groaned agonizingly when his clattering teeth bit down hard on his tongue.

Van Helsing tsked as he slammed the friar up against a wall, holding him easily with one hand as he roughly rubbed the man's bloody mouth with the other. "That looks like it hurt. And tongue wounds always take so long to heal." Negligently, he backhanded Paul, leaving a bloody hand print across his face. "Waste not want not," he reminded the other man, then yanked him up close to his own face again. "You want to grope someone, you should be sure they welcome your hands." Almost negligently, Van Helsing lowered Paul down the wall, then slammed his knee up between the other man's legs with all his strength, dropping him as Paul retched, throwing up onto the stone floor.

Moving away from the heaving man who lay on the dirty stones, Van Helsing drew in deep breaths, reining in his urge to kill the man who had laid hands on Carl. He felt the wolf within him howl for vengeance and the vampire demand blood. Their rage both sickened and goaded him.

Turning back, he raised one dark eyebrow as he saw the friar rise shakily to his feet. His mouth quirking up into a satisfied smile–he might hesitate to hit a man who was down, but a standing man was an adversary and fair meat. Eagerly, he strode toward Paul only to be thrust violently back as the man raised a hand as if throwing something at him. Van Helsing flew through the air to slam against a stone wall fully 20 feet away.

He shook his head, grasping at consciousness as the world tilted gently onto its side. Blood ran thick and hot down his face from a cut over his eyebrow, blinding him. He could hear the other man's footsteps approaching, and his lips drew back in a snarl. Then he was seized and slammed back against the wall with enough power to feel his ribs break. Throughthe haze of blood, he saw Paul's young face crease into a leering smile as his bloody tongue darted out to lap up the crimson rivulets coursing down Van Helsing's cheek.

"It's been a long time since someone made me bleed," the youthful voice was a dark hiss in Van Helsing's ear. "I should make you suffer for years just for that."

Within Van Helsing's body, the wolf roared a dark challenge and he answered it, dark claws tore out of the ends of his fingers as they slashed at the leering bloody face and the deceptively guiless brown eyes. Paul screamed, dropping Van Helsing as he turned away, his hands pressed to his ruined eyes.

Van Helsing landed on his feet, already reaching into his boot to draw a stiletto and threw it with all his might at the man before him.

It rebounded off Paul as if he were made of stone, the hilt and shattered blade falling in separate pieces to the ground. With a snarl, the young man's face rose to Van Helsing's and he winced to see the bloodied eye sockets twist and writhe as the mutilated eyes repaired themselves.

Forcing himself away from the wall, Van Helsing circled the creature before him, maintaining his wary distance as he held his damaged ribs. "You're the master of the wraith and the incubus. You're the one responsible for the attacks–the cambion," he snarled and was met with an answering growl of hatred from the man before him.

"Aye, _monster slayer_," he spat, his blood splashing the stones between them. "Lap dog of the Inquisition, you hounded and killed my mother, now you want to kill me as well. Too late, Van Helsing, I'm more than a match for you now."

"I don't know anything about your mother, boy," Van Helsing snarled, shaking his head as he cudgeled his brains for some understanding of the clue the cambion had given him. "Tell me who she was."

He could hear the sounds of footsteps, many of them. Evidently help was on the way and he cursed it roundly as he saw the cambion's eyes flick to the side before sliding back to him.

Backing away, Paul's eyes on Van Helsing's were murderous. "I'll leave you to your little victory, hunter. Cherish it. I promise it won't last."

He turned away, then paused, throwing over his shoulder as an afterthought, "Cherish Carl as well, I promise that won't last long either. He's too good for you, lap dog, and I have a taste for innocence."

Striding to the rough wall, Paul walked straight into it without hesitation, phasing into the stone as though it were water to disappear from sight. Van Helsing groaned as he leaned against the forge Carl had pulled the sword from that had killed the incubus. In the back of his mind, he considered it fitting that the forge that had created the sword that saved Carl's life was now supporting him. He was starting to develop a real affection for it.

* * *

Carl stirred, blinking tiredly into the darkness as a warm heavy body settled beside him with a groan. 

"Gabriel?" he asked, smiling as the man next to him chuckled ruefully.

"In the battered flesh," Van Helsing sighed as he carefully insinuated himself under the covers. He longed to take Carl into his arms, but between Carl's injuries and his own fractured ribs, it wasn't possible. He had to content himself with seeking out Carl's hand with his own and holding it, stroking the friar's fingers gently.

"I'm glad you're back Gabriel," Carl smiled, then sighed as he tugged at the hand in his. "Though I had imagined a little more strenuous reunion."

"Aye, me too," Van Helsing laughed softly. "If it's any consolation, in my imagination our reunion would have scandalized the Vatican and given Jinette grey hair."

Carl blinked, his own imagination struggling to supply some possible scenarios to match his lover's description. "Er...grey hair?"

"Possibly white," Van Helsing suggested with a satisfied smirk in his voice.

"Ah...that's something to shoot for then."

"Speaking of shooting," Van Helsing's bantering tone segued into sternness as he turned his head to look at Carl. In the dimlight, he was able to see his lover quite clearly and found the sight infinitely precious. "You've developed a habit of picking up guns and getting into the middle of battles. I'm not happy about that, Carl."

"Oh, really?" Carl frowned, considering the lecturing note in Van Helsing's tone. "I'm sorry to hear that because I'm not sure I want to give it up. It turns out that I'm rather good at that sort of thing."

"You're good at a lot of things, you can afford to be a little more selective in what you chose to spend your time doing."

"I see. You mean, like making your weapons and warming your bed?"

"It sounds like a good plan to me."

Carl's soft snort wasn't lost on the hunter; his eyes narrowed as he viewed the other man's smug expression with disfavor. He had always admired Carl's spirit and courage, but that was before he had fallen in love with the friar. He had a great deal more to lose now and the insular, easily flustered Carl of old was looking a lot safer.

"You disagree?" he rumbled, watching Carl's half attempted, and quickly aborted, shrug against the nubby cotton sheet.

"I know that I don't' like you going out alone to fight," the friar admitted thoughtfully. "I want to be with you, watching your back."

"You can do that from a safe distance, you don't' need to carry a weapon and become a target."

"No, I don't. But if I'm the target, that gives you a chance to get a better aim."

"Carl..."

"Gabriel, it's settled. If you want to keep me safe, then teach me what I need to know."

It was Van Helsing's turn to snort as he threw one arm over his eyes while the hand holding Carl's tightened to the point of pain. Remembrances of Anna swirled through his mind–she had been just as sure, just as set in her determination to fight. And she was dead. He didn't want to lose Carl the same way. But Carl wasn't giving him much of a choice.

"You're set on this? Benerd said you didn't want to become a Hunter."

"No, I don't want to be seen to replace _you_. And I'm not wild about being a hunter, either, but I'll stand at your back and keep you safe. I'll be the help you need when you go out on missions. And, to show you I'm a good sport, I'll even agree to keep making your weapons and warming your bed...in my spare time, that is."

"Generous," Van Helsing enthused drily.

"Almost saintly," Carl smiled sweetly.

"What if I want more than you can manage...in your spare time," the hunter suggested, his voice dropping to a low husky murmur as he released Carl's hand to stroke his thigh thoughtfully.

"Ah...well...er...more?" Carl squeaked, blinking rapidly as he felt his body react favorably to the suggestion. Very favorably.

"Almost nonstop," Van Helsing assured the friar, a feral smile making his white teeth glint in the moonlight.

"Er...can...can you..._use_ that many...weapons?" Carl bleated faintly and heard the man at his side snort.

"I _could_, but I can think of other things to do with our time."

"Really?"

"The _entire_ Vatican on alert, Carl."

"Oh!" Heavy breathing was all that was heard for several minutes, then "And Jinette?"

"Probably bald," Gabriel murmured filthily.

"Oh..my...," Carl moaned. "Gabriel...I...really...HATE...the fact...that...we're both...laid up!"

"Don't worry, little mouse," Van Helsing squeezed the trembling thigh beneath his hand, a smug smile on his face under the comfortable cover of darkness. "I promise, I heal very quickly, I'll be up in no time."

"Oh...my...God!"

TBC


	10. Hide and Seek 10

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to Discovery and Disillusion

**Summary: The Wraith and the Incubus have been defeated and the Master sent back to Hell. But the war is just beginning.**

Notes: The next Chapter will start in the new story **Blood Wars**

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the start of slash (in a loving relationship)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**_Feedback: _**For all of you who followed the past stories, I hope that you find this story equally as interesting if not more so! Your reviews and suggestions are, as always, deeply appreciated! Due to Fanfiction rules I am unable to thank you in depth but I would like to say thanks to reviewers **Kirke, ****Pineapple Ice, ****Jania, ****Verona Dracula, ****Curious Dream Weaver**_

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**Anger...rage...the never-ending need to strike out and spill blood. Two enemies that should have fought one another instead combining to croon their need for satiation. They needed the pleasure of tearing into vulnerable flesh combined with the shivering delight of freshly spilled blood, its scent rich and dark and infinitely precious...

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Hide and Seek 10**

Van Helsing threw himself to the side of the small rooftop cupola as another gargoyle strafed the Borgia Tower. The wind from its dark grey wings, spanning twelve feet from tip to tip, buffeted his body as it passed over him, dark talons plucked at his moving body without gaining a purchase. Rolling against the ornately tiled wall of the enclosure, he brought the restored crossbow to his shoulder and fired, taking grim satisfaction in the beast's shrieks as it spiraled out of control and plunged to the ground. His satisfaction was short-lived as a heavy body plowed into him from behind, sending him sprawling over the waist-high wall surrounding the platform. Rasping chuckles filled his ears, identifying his attacker as a harpy as clawed hands caught at the back of his coat and threw him off the roof.

Blindly throwing out a hand behind him, he caught the edge of the wall, groaning as he swung back to slam into the wall then hung twisting painfully, over the blood splattered paving below.

Laboring to catch his breath, his mind perversely chose to recall and regret not accepting Benerd's earlier offer of help.

Looking up, he saw the leering face of the harpy peering down at him and winced as its drool splattered onto his shoulders and into his hair when it leaned further out, smacking its lips. Without sighting, he brought the crossbow up to waist height and fired a stream of quarrels into the overhanging face, then pressed his own to the rough stones as, with a gurgling scream, the monster fell past him to the ground.

He thought longingly of a soft warm bed with plenty of covers even as his ears registered the heavy rustling noise of flapping wings approaching him from both sides, their origin hidden by the curve of the tower walls. Gritting his teeth, he swung the crossbow up, hooking it over the wall, then let go of his handhold to cling to the stock of the weapon instead. Shoving his free hand into his coat, he found the ornate handle of his gun by feel and drew it, already cocking the hammer before it cleared his body. Bracing his feet against the rough grey wall, he pushed out so that he stood upright on the vertical wall. With the additional height his head cleared the curve of the wall enabling him to see the harpies circling, coming at him from both sides. Their expressions of wide-eyed surprise at seeing him appear suddenly out of midair were obliterated by several silver bullets.

Van Helsing didn't bother watching their whirling plummet; instead, he concentrated on pulling himself back up over the wall of the cupola, rolling over it to fall to the blood and feather strewn tiles with a groan of relief. For the moment, all was quiet. The setting sun's rays cast a red pall over everything it touched and he shivered as the cold night wind stirred his sweat-soaked hair and curled around his body. Sitting amidst the carnage of his battles, it occurred to him that there must be an easier way to make a living and he worried that, for the life of him, he couldn't think of what that might be.

* * *

Carl, propped up in his bed and covered in a multitude of blankets, looked up from his journal at the knock on the door of his chamber. Briefly he considered pretending he wasn't in as he had long ago lost his fondness for visitors, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to lie outright. Besides, everyone knew he was laid up. He could hardly claim that he had been in the lab or out to the outhouse. 

"Come in," he called with a sigh as he carefully marked his place in his journal with a ribbon and set it and the stylus he had been using onto the chair beside his bed.

The door creaked open to reveal Benerd's tonsured scalp and then a pair of remorseful blue eyes. The monk eyed Carl as if he were a bristling dog whom he wasn't sure of as he muttered a muffled apology against the door. "Er, Carl...so sorry to disturb you."

"You're not disturbing me, Benerd," Carl smiled, waving his hand at the monk in invitation. It occurred to him that inviting the monk into his chamber might be tantamount to inviting a vampire in–both would consider the invitation outstanding until the crack of doom. Still, he liked the monk and, truthfully, he wanted to pick his brains to verify what was happening in the war.

Benerd emerged around the door like a full moon sailing majestically out of cloud cover. His beaming face evoked a like smile on Carl's face and the friar found his mood improving.

"Sit down, tell me what's going on. Gabriel has spent the last few days almost living on the roof and I haven't had any news."

With his easy rolling gait, Benerd walked the few steps to the far side of the room, and picked up the spare chair from beside the clothes press, bringing it over to Carl's bed. Settling himself comfortably, he patted Carl's blanketed leg.

"I'm pleased to see you're doing better! You had me worried for a while."

Carl ducked his head slightly as he shrugged the good-natured chastisement off. He appreciated Benerd's concern; when he had awoken, his first question had been for the monk's well-being. Once he had been assured of Benerd's safety, he had been able to rest easily.

Looking up to meet the monk's friendly gaze, Carl smiled as he gestured to himself. "Well, as you can see, I _am_ much better. I've been able to take short walks and have been to the outhouse–thank God!"

Benerd 'tsked' with sympathy, then leaned forward to speak in a voice much quieter than his usual squeaky roar. "Er...bit hard having _women_ do your nursing, eh?"

Carl closed his eyes as he nodded with heartfelt embarrassment. He had no difficulty with women, in fact he loved them–all kinds, of every age. He was fascinated with their secret lives and unknown rituals and usually the idea of being waited on hand and foot by _two _women would have constituted a cherished fantasy to be gloated over for a long time to come. But to wake up incapacitated and then to realize that he was to be tended to by a young girl who he doubted very much had ever had any kind of relations with a man–and then to find out the other woman was the dark-eyed forbidding matron Mavis... The wavering smokey projector image of the older witch had not done justice to the force of her personality. He felt like a naughty schoolboy every time she came into the room. With her stern all-seeing eyes upon him as Gretchen innocently tended to his battered, and sadly all too-human body...well, it had proved to be a nightmare rather than a pleasant fantasy. The old...er...matron had smiled with an all too-knowing smugness as Carl squirmed red-faced under Gretchen's ministrations. It was a relief when he was safely tucked back under the mound of blankets and left alone.

"Well, it's good that you're up again," Benerd's hearty voice pulled Carl up from his miasma of embarrassment and the friar gratefully acknowledged the monk's ringing endorsement with a large grin of his own.

"So, tell me how the war is going?" Carl demanded, settling himself more comfortably, prepared to listen at length.

Benerd's smile dropped like a stone as he shrugged and shook his head, his gaze falling to his pudgy hands resting in his brown homespun lap. "Not so well, I'm afraid. We've got monsters pouring out of every direction except our ears. The Cardinal seems to be everywhere and he constantly carries that big silver sword now. He's in a fine state as it is but swinging that great bloody sword around..." Benerd shuddered. "At least the fighters that were abroad are back for the most part."

"The other Hunters?" Carl asked eagerly, curious to hear about the men that he had only vaguely been aware of prior to his first journey with Van Helsing. His days of being a simple inventor who had no concept of the dark shadowy men who made use of his weapons were long gone. He wanted to know, now, with a curiosity that was ravenous.

"Hmph, scary lot," Benerd shuddered and rolled his eyes. "Dark, masked, scarred, they look like they'd as soon cut you up as look at you. After seeing them, Van Helsing appears as genial as a chuckling pink-cheeked babe!"

"P.p.Pink...," Carl stuttered then began to wheeze with laughter as he held his tender stomach. He could hardly wait to tell Gabriel.

Benerd shifted in his seat uneasily, apparently reading Carl better than the friar would have given him credit for because he caught at the friar's shin and shook it urgently. "Now, you won't be telling him, will you? That wouldn't be healthy for me! Promise me, Carl! Or no more news for you."

The friar waved his hands as he struggled to contain his laughter, gradually bringing himself under control. "N..n..n..."

"No? You won't tell?" Benerd asked anxiously and then sighed with relief as Carl shook his head vigorously. "Thank you, Carl, you're a good friend. Probably better than I deserve. I meant no harm, of course. Just that Van Helsing is a good deal more approachable than those others. One gets the feeling they enjoy their job...if you take my meaning."

"Mmm," Carl sighed breathily as he wiped his streaming eyes. "I..I suppose, though, they're doing a good job of containing the monsters. After all, they deal with this all the time. Have they been down to catacombs?"

Benerd winced, nodding. "Aye, they have–the catacombs I mean. And I heard the two that came back tell Jinette only a mad man would go down there. They flatly refused to go back down. Apparently the third man was killed and left behind."

Carl's wince mirrored Benerd's. He had been roundly castigated by Gabriel about his foray into the dark tunnels, hearing more than once that only a suicidal mad man would attempt it. Evidently Gabriel's brothers-in-arms had agreed with him. He opened his mouth to ask further questions but was interrupted by an incredible din of shouts and screams and a roar that made the heavy wooden door of his chamber rattle.

"My God," Carl gasped, sitting bolt upright, his gaze fixed on the rattling door. Benerd had lunged to his feet, stumbling back against his chair which tipped over, its legs catching at and tangling with the monk's robed legs.

The monk fought the chair, his wheezing breath rendered almost inaudible by the incredible din outside even though he was only inches away from Carl. With a desperate kick, Benerd extricated himself from the chair and managed to stand upright only to fall back against the chair again as his face drained of color. As Carl watched him with alarm, the monk pointed with a shaking hand, directing Carl's anxious gaze to his window.

Carl's skin prickled with gooseflesh as he forced himself to slowly turn in the direction Benerd pointed, then had to stifle a cry as he saw the dark malignant form crouched on the windowsill, its great dark wings filling the aperture. It was a dark grey, vaguely manlike form in that it had two arms and two legs. But all its appendages were tipped with long curving white claws that glittered in the soft red light. Its body was thin, the dark skin stretched over too-prominent ribs and a hollow belly. As Carl dragged his eyes up the long torso, he cowered back in his bed as the large pointed head turned to him, and he looked into the protruding red eyes. The pupils were diamond shaped and deep deep black. Its face was elongated and pointed, like a wolf's but the creature was entirely hairless. Long pointed ears swiveled on the skull, as if listening to their racing hearts and ragged breathing. Thin lips wrinkled back to reveal jagged dark teeth from which drool slid down in sticky long strands.

The eyes were the worst part–they were unmistakably intelligent and when they fell on Carl he saw, with a sinking dread, that a look of satisfaction reflected in the crimson orbs.

Compressing its wings, the monstrosity slid through the window, stepping heavily onto the creaking wooden floor. Benerd fell back against the second chair at Carl's bedside and fell sprawling onto the floor. Carl shoved at the enveloping blankets, scrabbling back in the bed to rise to his feet, wobbly on the shifting and uneven mattress.

The monster's gaze moved from Benerd to Carl, verifying that they did not have weapons. Then its gaze turned back to Carl as it raised one arm to point a long thin finger at him. When it spoke, it was in an almost unintelligible hiss.

"You...sssstaaay! Commmme quietly and I will not harmmmm you."

"Come?" Carl gasped, backing up against the wall, sliding over it toward the door of the room. "Come with you? Why?"

"My masssssterrrr wantsssss you. Commmme."

"Er...I'd rather not, if you don't mind," Carl bleated and leapt from the bed to the floor to seize one of the fallen chairs and heaved it at the monster. It hissed in fury, batting away the heavy piece of furniture as if it were a falling feather. Carl didn't wait to see what would happen. He was already wrenching the other chair away from Benerd's legs and swinging it at the monster as well. It caught the elongated skull squarely, making an ugly thudding noise. The monster staggered, red membranous eyelids dropped down to protect the protruding eyes. Pulling back the chair, Carl swung it again and struck the monster, this time knocking it back against the window.

With a roar, he charged it, chair legs extended, ramming them into the beast's hollow stomach and shoving with all his strength. It fell back against the window and then slid out, falling from view.

Groaning, Carl dropped the chair as he staggered over to the window. Gasping for breath, he braced himself against the stone sill and leaned out, only to fall out of the window himself as two large hands caught at his wrists and yanked.

His fall was immediately arrested by the beast as it clutched him firmly around the ribs, its beating wings raising a wind that made his hair fly out around his head in a nimbus. He could feel the thing's hot breath on his skin as its drool saturated his robe at the back of his neck.

"You will commme nnnnnow," the monster hissed with unmistakable warning.

Carl threw back his head, attempting to strike the monster's muzzle but only succeeded in almost braining himself against its rock-hard ribs. Its hissing, spluttering laughter made his hackles rise and his temper flare. With an oath, he struggled in its hold, writhing and twisting so that it wobbled dangerously in the air.

Its sweeping wings had carried them away from the window out over the gardens. Carl grimly recognized the area and knew that they would be shortly passing over the Borgia Tower. If Gabriel didn't see him in the thing's arms, he'd shoot the monster down. If he did... Carl didn't want Van Helsing to have to live with that nightmare. Still writhing, he turned in the monster's arms until he faced it. Steeling himself, he grabbed at its face, forcing himself to attack its eyes.

The monster shrieked even as Carl heard another voice, calling his name. He knew the voice and was fully prepared to do whatever was necessary to reach it. Viciously, he tore at the bulging eyes and when the arms about him loosened, he was ready. Shoving away, he grasped the hands at his back, groping for and seizing the long thumbs and yanked outwards.

Suddenly, he was falling. Falling out of the sky and toward the ground. He snatched at the dangling leathery feet of the monster and swung on them as hard as he could, letting go as he felt the monster falter and fall. His own falling trajectory carried him straight at the tower and he reached blindly for it, crying out as a hand seized his flailing right wrist and held tight.

He heard the sound of the crossbow firing, heard the monster's dying scream and, a scant second later, its abrupt collision with the Pope's rose garden.

Hanging from Van Helsing's arm, twisting slowly in the air, Carl closed his eyes and let his head fall forward against the mortared stone wall. A guttural sigh of relief stirred the dirt and detritus of generations from the chinks between the stones sending them swirling out to settle on his robe and face. He didn't mind. It felt like heaven to still be alive to feel it.

He dimly registered Van Helsing laboriously hauling him up and he made an effort to help, his feet scrabbled for toe holds. As he found them, he pushed himself up with each purchase until he felt the hunter's arm circle his ribs and haul him up and over the low wall.

They both fell to the tiled floor, Carl held in a strong unbreakable grip that crushed him to Van Helsing's chest.

They lay on the cold tiles for some time, silent, each holding the other tightly and breathing in the scent of their sweat and fear and love. The sun was almost set now, its red haze faded slowly be replaced by the misty blue of twilight.

When Van Helsing stirred, Carl clutched at him and the hunter patted him, his arms tightening as he leaned down to press his mouth to Carl's ear.

"I can't leave you alone for five minutes, can I?" he murmured and smiled when he heard the friar's indignant snort.

"Is it my fault that monsters take a fancy to me?" Carl growled and shifted irritably to push away from the warm chest that he would rather have spent the next 50 years snuggled up against. Van Helsing let him draw away enough to be able to raise his head to meet the hunter's gaze, but his arms tightened and locked after that, refusing any further distance. Carl was happy to oblige.

"Are you all right?" the hunter asked, his eyes moving restlessly over Carl's face and body, his hands stroking now, rubbing Carl's back in firm strokes.

"For a man who's just taken an unexpected aerial tour of the gardens, I'm surprisingly well," Carl sighed and smiled lopsidedly. "Must have been a nasty shock for you, though?"

"'Nasty shock'?" Van Helsing's quiet deep voice was thoughtful, considering. "No...somehow, not really. I think I'm getting used to your escapades, actually."

"Hmph, no need to get pissy about it," Carl sniffed.

"I could argue that point, but I'm more interested in exactly how it happened." Van Helsing shifted, sitting up and pulling Carl with him so that he leaned back against the wall and held Carl against his chest, one arm about the friar's ribs and the other hand buried in his hair.

The friar considered a token show of independence but then decided they had both been through more than enough and gratefully subsided against Van Helsing, his arms encircling the other man to hug his warmth close. He closed his eyes and seriously considered going to sleep when he heard the interrogatory rumble in Van Helsing's chest and remembered the hunter's question.

"Ah...well it came to my room, through the window. I beat it off with a chair but then it yanked me out of the window and...well, you saw most of the rest of what happened."

"It came to your room?" Van Helsing asked, his dark brows drawing down as he considered the fair head snuggled against his chest. His long fingers tightened in the silky hair as he shook his head "I don't understand. Why did it come after you? Why did it try to take you?"

"It said...its...'master' wanted me," Carl murmured hesitantly and winced as he heard the deep vicious growl vibrating in Van Helsing's chest. The arm about his ribs tightened to the point of pain and the hand in his hair clenched. He lay still, rubbing the hunter's back, feeling the body beneath his own tremble with anger. He had never seen Van Helsing this way before, it both frightened and worried him. He could think of nothing else to do but attempt to soothe the anger away and hope that it would pass quickly.

Van Helsing struggled to control the wave of rage that swamped his mind until only a tiny pinpoint of rationality still remained. He was aware of Carl in his arms and that kept the beast baying for blood in check–Carl was his. He was the only family, the only mate Van Helsing had ever had or _would _ever have.

"Gabriel?" Carl ventured, stirring only to have his breath squeezed out of him as the arms about him tightened and a surly snarl that sounded suspiciously like 'Mine' came to his ears. Wheezing, Carl shook his head and pinched the firm waist under his fingers. "Why don't you just piss on me and have done?"

He could feel the man above him pause, then a gust of warm breath stirred Carl's hair as Van Helsing chuckled and relaxed.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, ruffling the friar's hair.

"Well that's what wolves do to mark their territory, don't they?"

"I wouldn't know, I've never watched that closely. I doubt if they piss on their mates, though."

"I should hope not! You try that on me and I'll smack you on the nose with a rolled up paper!"

"I'll try to remember."

"Hmph–Good doggie."

"Carl, don't push it."

"Yes, Gabriel," Carl smiled and rubbed his face against Van Helsing's chest with purring pleasure.

* * *

Van Helsing stirred irritably as he looked out of the window of Carl's chamber into the cold mid-afternoon sun. A full twenty-four hours had passed since the attempted abduction of the friar–Carl was asleep and they were alone for the first time that day. He should have been happy to be with Carl, but all he could feel was an almost overwhelming urge for mayhem. He was angry and felt the need to take out his aggressions somewhere, anywhere, and that bothered and worried him. The hunter had always remembered a sense of dissatisfaction with the way things were in his life, but he had never felt the violence clawing at his mind and body that he felt now. 

The only thing that calmed the beast-like anger raging within him was being with Carl. When he was in the friar's company, the urgency for blood drained from him, becoming troublesome, but not consuming. He could spend time with Carl, speaking with him, touching him, and feel a calmness and satisfaction with the man that he could find no where else. Now that Carl was asleep, Van Helsing was left to his own devices and the never-ending-struggle to retain a semblance of peace within himself.

The heavy wooden door to Carl's plain chamber opened to allow Gretchen to enter with an apologetic smile for the hunter. She made no attempt to speak with him or to do anything else but sit at Carl's side to watch him sleep. Her presence, too, seemed like a balm to the hunter and he turned willingly from the window to face her.

"You haven't slept, Gretchen. Shouldn't you be in bed? I'll keep watch on Carl."

The German girl smiled and shrugged as she pushed a hand through her heavy black hair, shoving it away from her face. It was down, out of the thick braids she normally wore, and it covered her shoulders in a mantle of darkness. She was an attractive girl and while not beautiful, her smile was genuine and heartwarming.

"Ja, I should, but I just wanted to look in on him before going. I also wanted...to look..in on you."

"Me? I'm fine, Gretchen."

She smiled but shook her head, negating his reassurance. "No..I can see that you do not feel well...in here," she touched the bodice of her plain dark gown with one finger, over the heart. "I can feel worry and anger in you. It takes much of your strength to resist it, doesn't it?"

Van Helsing sighed as he leaned back against the white-washed wall, folding his arms over his chest as he did so. He could feel the anger she spoke of, curling and twisting beneath his imprisoning arms, but he only smiled at her. "I think we're all worried these days."

Gretchen shook her head again, but made no further comment. Standing, she nodded to Van Helsing and quietly left the chamber, closing the door behind her. He moved to take her vacated seat, his hand automatically moving to Carl's and taking it into his own. Stroking the friar's fingers, the hunter smiled at the sleeping man as peace came to him with the simple act.

* * *

The angling beams of sunlight streaming through the colored glass of the Palace library set the worn tiles and dark oak tables and chairs aglow with a rainbow of colors. Dust motes danced a swirling ballet through the dusky air heavy with the scents of old parchment, mellow rich inks and thick aging leather. Seated at one of the massive wooden tables, Mavis was all but invisible behind dozens of heavy leather-bound tomes. She had found the library early on and had been almost inseparable from it since. Gretchen smiled at her aunt's bowed head as she approached the table, her smile growing larger as Mavis' querulous voice acknowledged her presence though the older witch hadn't looked up yet. 

"So, you're back. You've seen the friar and the troublesome hunter? Both are well?"

"Yes. Carl sleeps well, and he has color now. He will be able to stay up for longer periods very soon now." Gretchen seated herself at the table, across from her aunt, her voice grew soft as she continued. "Gabriel..."

Mavis raised her head at that, her dark eyes narrowing slightly as her brows descended. "'Gabriel', is it?"

Gretchen sighed as her thin calloused fingers stroking the dark leather bindings of the books piled about them.

"Hmph," Mavis nodded and leaned back in her chair, making the worn joints squeak. She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded with a sigh. "Go ahead, tell me then."

Gretchen shrugged, a frown playing about her lips. "He worries me, aunt. I feel such rage in him, it's dark and violent, it claws to get out."

"The beasts within him are strong, Gretchen. If he had never made use of their gifts, it would have been better. But in this place, where the door to Hell has been opened, they have grown much stronger than before. At this point, he is more beast than man, I think."

"Isn't there anything we can do?" Gretchen asked, her gaze on the older woman was pleading and the other witch's frown deepened.

"You care a great deal about this man's well-being, child..."

"As do you," the girl protested, but fell silent as her aunt's eyebrows rose in sardonic arches.

"Don't play coy with me, girl. You feel things for this man that have nothing to do with his well-being as the Left Hand of God. You see him as a man, not a weapon."

"He _is_ a man! Why should he be called a weapon, as if he has no feelings, no worth outside of being a tool for his God?"

"No one ever said he had no worth, don't put words into my mouth, Gretchen. But these feelings that you are allowing yourself are not good. They will not bring you happiness nor will they please him. His heart is already taken by another."

Gretchen winced at her aunt's admission, her dark head hung low as if each word were a physical blow that broke her spirit and body.

"I'm sorry for being such a little girl," she murmured. "I couldn't help feeling for him, he has such pain, I wish I could take it from him."

"Hmph. Your kindness does you credit, Gretchen. And I'm certain that it is appreciated; though he does not feel love for you, I believe you have his friendship and I don't think that is given often or lightly. Will it be enough?"

Gretchen's smile, though small, was heartfelt. "I suppose it will have to be."

Mavis rose from her seat, coming around the table to Gretchen's side to give her niece's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Then we should return to the friar's chamber. There is a meeting that needs to take place, to decide what needs to be done, and as the friar cannot come to us yet we will need to go to him. You are ready?"

"Ja," Gretchen stood, her arm slipping about Mavis' waist. "Thank you, aunt, for listening. I'll try to remember what you've said."

As they walked arm-in-arm from the chamber, Mavis chuckled as she shook her head. "I know how difficult it is, girl. The Mother knows that I fell in love often when I was your age. This one too, I think, I would have felt something for. He _is_ a handsome beast, isn't he?"

"Mavis!" Gretchen exclaimed in mock horror, then butted her aunt's hip with her own making the older woman's laughter ring out in the quiet chamber, bringing quite a few quelling looks their way from the monks at the various tables.

As they slipped through the double doors that lead to the outer corridors, Mavis leaned in to whisper into Gretchen's ear, "Gretchen I'm older than you, but I'm not _dead_! I can appreciate a fine stallion when I see him as well as you can."

Gretchen made no reply; instead, blushing, she shoved her aunt hurriedly out the door and followed, pulling it firmly to behind them.

* * *

Jinette stalked through the corridors of the Palace with a grim air. He was on his way to Carl's chamber with the intent of forming a plan for dealing with the current situation. He had a fair idea of what had transpired within the lab between the man they had known as Friar Paul and Van Helsing. Knowing now that the former friar had, in actuality, been a cambion and had actively sought to bring down the Order from within made Jinette feel sick. For centuries, the Order had existed as a dark, silent society, working out-of-sight to rid the world of evil. Now evil sought them out, burrowing into their midst like maggots to corrupt from within. He shouldn't be surprised, but the prelate could not help feeling the loss of security the closed Order had always instilled within him. He wondered if they would be able to recover that precious peace of mind, or was it now gone forever, a victim of this new war? 

Behind Jinette, Brother Benerd trudged quietly. He was unused to being in the thick of the action and he sorely missed his quiet lab and formerly serene lifestyle wherein the only excitement came on a petri dish from the handlers. When had he gone from scholar to hunter? He supposed it had happened when Van Helsing and Carl had first entered his lab, but he couldn't find it within himself to blame either man. In fact, he found himself liking their company and would feel sorry to lose it now. Still, their company hardly seemed a fair trade for his former lifestyle. He was spending entirely too much time up on roofs or, worse, in the presence of the Cardinal–both situations promised unpleasant consequences for the unwary.

* * *

Van Helsing looked up from his seat beside Carl, releasing the friar's hand as a knock on the chamber door roused him. The wobbly planed door shuddered open to admit Mavis and Gretchen, both of whom moved to Carl's bedside to check on him. The hunter allowed a fond smile to touch his lips as the friar's eyes opened with their ministrations and a fuzzy, sleepy smile ghosted over his open face. 

"Hello," he said, blue eyes moving about to take in his three visitors. "I seem to have drifted off."

"You needed the sleep," Mavis assured him as Gretchen slid another pillow beneath his head. This new pillow was plump and soft and Carl's dreamy, appreciative smile and raised blissful eyebrows made his visitors chuckle.

"If this is the spoils of getting hurt, I might not mind it so much," the friar sighed, snuggling back into the softness.

"There are easier ways to get a new pillow," Van Helsing objected and was mollified by the friar's grimace of contrition. They hadn't come to an agreement yet about Carl's more active participation in battles, he wanted to keep the friar safely tucked away but now, with the infiltration of the Order, it was becoming unpleasantly clear that there was no such thing as a 'safe' place. At least if he kept Carl with him, he could...

The chamber door opened again, their new visitor making no attempt to announce his presence first with a polite knock. It didn't surprise the people in the chamber to see Jinette appear followed by Benerd. The Cardinal, however, seemed displeased to find the group awaiting him, his eyes immediately flying to Van Helsing as if to blame him for the crowd now filling the small room. The hunter sternly reined down the urge to grin in the face of Jinette's displeasure; instead, he rose from the bedside chair and moved to take a seat on the foot of Carl's bed, leaving the vacant seat to Jinette. The witches had settled onto the other chair by the clothes press and on the window sill, leaving Benerd to prop himself up against the wall to the Cardinal's left.

Eyeing the assemblage before him, Jinette sniffed before turning to Carl. His stern expression mellowed somewhat as he looked at the friar's wide blue eyes–when he spoke, his voice was low and almost soothing.

"So Carl, you have survived another adventure. You're feeling better?"

"Yes, your Grace," Carl nodded, a small smile appearing fleetingly about his lips before running for its life.

Jinette either didn't notice or chose not to comment on Carl's discomfiture. Another small smile for the friar appeared on his thin lips before he turned to the waiting hunter. No smile appeared for the man before him; instead, Jinette raised his eyebrow at Van Helsing's rumpled state and insouciant ease as he reclined on one elbow across the foot of Carl's bed, his long legs tucked up neatly. Van Helsing's obvious lack of concern for Jinette's authority never failed to rankle the prelate. At times he played with the mental picture of wiping that smile off the hunter's face but the means of doing so always eluded him. Not even the Inquisitors seemed to put a dent in that irascible facade. The fact that he had, upon occasion, actually felt some sort of humorous affection for the hunter seemed a far gone and regrettable mental lapse now.

To soothe his ruffled feathers, Jinette indulged in the pastime that brought him some semblance of peace. It was rapidly becoming his favorite pastime–hunter baiting.

"So, you lounge here, keeping Carl awake, while there are monsters attacking the Palace from within and without? It's good to see your priorities are straight. Perhaps if we could arrange to have Carl carried up to the roof more often, you might deign to put in an appearance there as well?"

Van Helsing shrugged, his lips quirking up at the corners as he met Jinette's eyes with patent enjoyment. "You could try it, I suppose." He _had_ been up to the roof, almost constantly since he had recovered from his fight with the cambion, but with Carl's attempted abduction, he now spent his time safeguarding the friar. He was well aware that Jinette knew the need for this and recognized the groundless accusation as the opening move of a game he was quite familiar with.

"If I thought it would shame you, I would," Jinette sniffed. "As it is, I begin to despair that short of dynamite, very little will stir you."

"So you came here, with Benerd, to order me to the roof? It seems a long distance to walk for such a menial task. Or did you come to visit Carl as well?"

"I came to plan a course of action, Van Helsing! Someone must take charge of the situation and, as we are regrettably short of fighters, it must be sooner rather than later."

To this, Van Helsing gave a grudging nod of agreement. It was high time, actually, that they came up with a plan, instead of merely reacting to the increasingly devastating attacks upon the See. Though he would never admit it aloud, Van Helsing realized that Jinette had his hands well and truly full just shoring up existing defenses and making sure that they could withstand a long siege. The fact that he was here now had to mean that those defenses, while adequate for the moment, would prove woefully weak over the long run. Van Helsing had never had any doubt what must, ultimately, be done and looking into the Prelate's snapping eyes, he knew that Jinette realized he had already agreed to do what was necessary, despite the certainty that he would not survive it. All that remained to be agreed upon were the details.

"Someone will have to enter the doorway to Hell that has been opened to find and destroy the cambion," Jinette's voice was stiff and metered as he held Van Helsing's eyes. The hazel eyes held his own thoughtfully for a moment, then dropped in acquiescence. Jinette felt his own shoulders drop as he drew in a deep breath and settled against the chair back.

Mavis stirred then, leaning forward to sharply eye the two men. "Ah, so that's how it is, eh? You realize that anyone who goes into the mouth of Hell will most certainly not come back?"

"It must be done," Van Helsing murmured, wincing when he heard the same words emerge from Jinette's mouth. He wondered how it had happened that he and the prelate had come to know one another so well that they hardly needed words any longer. He also found himself wondering if Jinette regretted the need to send the man who made his life so difficult into a situation that would, in all likelihood, result in his death. Would Jinette feel grief when his recalcitrant and sarcastic weapon was no long around to make his life difficult? It hardly seemed likely.

The prelate frowned as he bit down on the words that mirrored Van Helsing's. The witch eyeing him now seemed to think he had not realized what he was asking. Didn't _she _realize that he was asking no more than he had always asked of Van Helsing? Each mission had a good chance of killing the man, and he had never shirked from meeting the hunter's eyes when he asked it of him. Of _course _he knew, and of course he regretted it profoundly. Van Helsing was a thorn in his side, but he had grown used to the irritation–he wondered, when it was gone, how badly he would miss it. Tearing himself away from such profitless thoughts, he turned his attention instead to the irate woman breathing steam and smoke at him from across the small chamber. She wasn't a large woman, by any means, but she seemed quite formidable in her ire now.

"Madam, I am well aware of what I'm asking. If you know of any other way to stop these attacks, to stop the cambion, please..do share it with us."

Mavis' dark eyes never left Jinette's, it seemed as if she were using the link between him to dip into his mind, into his soul, to discover who he was and what he felt. He found it impossible to hold her gaze for long and finally dropped his eyes with a frown. He heard her sigh then and the chair shift as she settled back.

"No, I know of no other way," she admitted quietly. "But you should be aware of what you are asking. The doorway that the cambion has opened is the true doorway to Hell and all of the creatures that are consigned there. That means that all of the monsters that have ever fought the Order or that your hunter here has fought will be there. They will all know that he is there. Dracula, himself, will be there this time. Not the wraith made in his image. It will be _est Blut War_, the Blood War. All of the darkness and evil that dwells within the blood will arise so that he will have to fight the beasts within as well as without. You are aware of this?"

Jinette nodded. "I am aware." He raised his eyes to Van Helsing, noting the hunter's eyes were still downcast in thought. "If there were any other way, I wouldn't ask this of you."

A small smile pulled at Van Helsing's mouth. "I know."

Carl's wide-eyed gaze flew from one to the other, his mouth opening and closing with protests that were half spoken then pulled back as he realized nothing he could say would change the two men's minds. Finally, when all else failed, he spoke the only words that remained unanswerable in his own mind. "I'll go too."

"Carl," Van Helsing rubbed a hand over his face, his voice was heavy and resigned. "Is there any point in saying 'no'?"

"Not really. I mean, you _could_ say 'no' and then I'd have to say '_yes_' and after a great deal of back and forth haggling, I'd still be going so why not just accept it and get on with the planning?"

Van Helsing sighed as he dropped back onto the bed, his gaze on the water-stained white ceiling above them as he chuckled softly. "I see what you mean. Hardly seems worth the effort, does it."

"Not worth it at all," Carl agreed firmly. Leaning down and patting Van Helsing's shoulder, the friar then turned his gaze to the witches next. "So, we'll see all of our old friends in Hell, eh? Will we be able to beat them again?"

Mavis shook her head, raising her eyes to heaven as though praying for strength. When she lowered them to Carl's again, she shrugged in answer. "Since I have never been to Hell, how would I know? We'll just have to see when we get there."

"We!" Both Carl and Van Helsing exclaimed, the hunter sitting bolt upright to pin the witch with a quelling glower only to be met with a raised chin and a firm return glare that brooked no arguments.

"Ja, _'we'_. You would not last an hour without my help so be thankful that I'm offering it." Behind the older witch, Gretchen stirred and Mavis turned about quickly, catching hold of the girl's hands within her own calloused fingers. "_Nein_, Gretchen. You will not come with us. The war will go on here and they need someone who actually knows how to heal the wounded instead of treating them as a side of meat."

"Ahem!" Jinette growled, but said nothing further, his gaze instead flying to Van Helsing who only shrugged in defeat.

"Is there room for one more?" Benerd's soft, hesitant voice brought all eyes to the monk standing quietly against the wall. He winced at the combined stare that judged and was obviously finding him wanting, but he pushed away from the wall and met each gaze directly before finally settling on Carl's. "I did well enough on the roof and in the catacombs. I think I'd be of some help where you're going as well."

"This isn't the same thing as picking off harpies from the roof," Van Helsing reminded the monk, his voice gentle despite the harsh words. Benerd only shrugged.

"I know. But I've spent my life studying the creatures of darkness. This just seems the natural progression of things. So, if it's all the same to you...I'll be going too."

"Benerd," Carl began, then sighed as the monk raised a stubborn eyebrow at him. "Well, at least you have a decent gun–I'll carry the flame gun, you can carry the tojo gun."

"You'll probably want to make another tojo gun for Mavis," Van Helsing said and eyed the witch with disfavor. She seemed to enjoy the glower, smiling prettily in a manner that made Gretchen giggle and Van Helsing growl again.

"Your wolf does not frighten me, _Herr _Hunter," Mavis asserted firmly, dark eyebrows ascending as she fixed Van Helsing with a pointed stare.

"Hmph," Van Helsing snorted, a smile twitching at his lips. "Maybe it's a good thing I'm going to Hell after all. Fighting Dracula will be a pleasant change to arguing with you and Carl."

"Practically a holiday," Carl agreed, smiling pleasantly at Mavis who had the temerity to laugh outright.

_**It was settled then. They would descend to the catacombs and enter the gate to Hell. The Blood Wars had begun.**_


End file.
